


This Was Always a Bad Idea

by kyrene



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: AU, M/M, Underage Eames, a significant amount of cockblocking, some shooting of guys in the head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-19
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 21:10:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 76,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one who knew Arthur well had ever taken him for anything other than frighteningly intelligent, and so it wasn't any great surprise that he figured out in under twenty-four hours that the kid in the apartment below his was squatting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: It's Only Borrowing If You Intend to Give It Back

No one who knew Arthur well had ever taken him for anything other than frighteningly intelligent, and so it wasn't any great surprise that he figured out in under twenty-four hours that the kid in the apartment below his was squatting.

It was a little too obvious. From the fact that there'd been no parents or guardians, no sign of furniture or luggage, no lights on after dark except for possibly the faint flickering of a candle or two, and then there was the distinct scent of weed floating up from the balcony below Arthur's that snuck in his open window and made his nose wrinkle.

That last he was inclined to blame more on the second kid, a boy with dark skin, soft eyes, and a wild head of hair that he saw arriving and then leaving on the afternoon of the second day. Either way, Arthur was dead certain that he knew what was happening.

Now he just needed to decide what to do about it.

While the apartment building Arthur lived in wasn't highly upscale neither was it run down, by any stretch of the imagination. He was a little surprised and, yes, a bit impressed by the sheer balls on this teenager for squatting, he had to admit.

Arthur had no intention of contacting the authorities, but the fact was that even if the owner of the building didn't live in it eventually the kid was going to get found out, one way or another. And Arthur, well, he thought that this was a great shame.

Call him shallow, or maybe it had been too long since he'd last gotten laid, but this kid was something amazing to look at. Sharp cheekbones and a firm jaw, bright grey eyes that spoke of intelligence and wit, and while he was more lanky than bulked up, his leanness was definitely more fit than not.

Of course, he was also all of sixteen at the most, Arthur thought, despite the fact that he was about the same height Arthur was. Which put him very much out of bounds, for all Arthur might have rather questionable morals and a loose approach to local laws where his job was concerned.

Maybe it was the latter rather than the former that decided him, but after the kid had been squatting for almost two weeks, when Arthur was genuinely concerned that somebody _somewhere_ was going to catch on, he finally made up his mind and made his way down to the next floor.

It might not be a good idea, but damned if he wasn't about to do the stupidest thing he'd ever done.

At least he could blame this on his dick, since it was obviously doing his thinking for him.

***

The guy outside Eames' door when he reluctantly answered the brisk knock was someone that he knew but didn't know. It was his upstairs neighbor, and one of the best looking blokes Eames had ever seen, he had to say.

He wouldn't have opened the door, would have held still and feigned not being home, or perhaps popped out the window and down the fire escape if need be, if this guy hadn't called through the wood, "I know you're in there." Eames recognized the voice, and he had to admit that he had enough curiosity in him to overcome common sense. Maybe not the smartest move on his part, but it had been thirteen days and the guy hadn't grassed him out yet, so there was that.

And never mind that he was mouth-wateringly attractive, with his sleek black hair and fine suits, his sharp brown eyes that saw right through Eames, and the dimples that Eames had caught sight of once, when he'd smiled at a friend he met on the curb for a ride.

"Yeah?" Eames gruffed, knowing he sounded defensive, but not able to modify his tone. He was getting better at controlling himself, at giving people what they wanted, at not giving too much of himself away, but he was young yet and had a lot more to learn than he liked to think about.

"Look, I know you're squatting," the guy said, and Eames bit his lower lip sharply, but he couldn't say he was surprised. He'd been pretty sure he'd been made early on. He just wondered why the guy hadn't said anything before, or called anyone down on Eames' head.

"So?" Probably not the best way to respond, but Eames had given up being polite to those in positions of authority over him long ago. It never did any good, and some of them got off on it.

Not that this guy was officially in any sort of position over Eames. He could ring up the building super, Eames had no doubt, but if he tried it Eames would be long gone before anyone got their hands on him, off to find his next place to hole up. And not that Eames would mind terribly if this guy got off on him....

Sharp brown eyes gave Eames a long, searching look, and he fought the urge to squirm.

"I'm Arthur," the guy said, holding out his hand. It was a really lovely hand, Eames thought, distracted for a moment. Long, lean fingers, elegant and graceful, but too large to be anything less than completely masculine. His nails were trimmed short, there was a light dusting of dark hair at his wrist, and Eames could think of many, many filthy things he'd like to see those hands doing. Especially to him.

"Eames," he finally grunted, shaking this Arthur's hand as quickly as he felt he could get away with, because it was weird and awkward and he didn't feel comfortable touching this really hot guy any longer than he needed to. He _wanted_ to... but it didn't seem right when they'd only just met face to face.

Arthur nodded, not seeming to mind only having been offered one name. Well, he'd only given Eames one of his, after all. Eames couldn't quite believe he'd told this Arthur his real name, but at least he'd only given away one of them. Besides, what was Arthur going to _do_ with the information; ring up Eames' Mum?

"Look," Arthur said, still giving Eames that strange stare that made him want to fidget, made him want to flee. "I know that you're squatting and I'm not going to give you away, but sooner or later someone is going to figure it out and come after you. And knowing this place, it'll be sooner rather than later."

Eames shrugged because this wasn't anything he didn't already know.

"This is nice of you and all--" he began dismissively, but Arthur interrupted before he could finish.

"So I'd like to offer you a place to crash in my apartment. You can stay as long as you need, so long as you promise not to rip me off. If you take anything I'll hunt you down and take it out of your hide, and don't think I won't or can't. But if you can be trusted you're free to have the use of my guest bed."

Eames knew that his mouth had fallen open in a particularly unattractive way, knew he looked like a fool, but he couldn't believe what he had just heard.

"C-come again?"

Arthur gave him a little smirk and Eames bristled at the amused gleam in those piercing brown eyes. But the man only shrugged.

"Something to think over," he said, gave Eames a last nod, then turned and walked toward the elevator. Leaving Eames gawking in the doorway of his borrowed flat.

Well. That had been unexpected. This Arthur must think that Eames was an idiot, he thought scornfully, watching that fine ass in those fitted trousers until it vanished out of sight. And Eames was no idiot. Fuck that.

Absolutely no fucking way.

***

Arthur was not surprised when he heard a knock at his door, late in the evening. It was nearing eleven-thirty and while the knock hadn't been exactly what he would call tentative, it did lack a certain amount of force. As though the person knocking was half hoping that he would not hear.

But Arthur had sharp ears, and he was still up, doing some boring but vital paperwork. And to be honest, he'd been expecting the knock....

Well, he'd have thought that Eames might hold out for a day or so. But it wasn't shocking that he hadn't. Arthur had made use of the time between extending his offer and now to look Eames up. The kid would probably be horrified and _pissed_ if he'd known that Arthur had not only figured out who he really was and where he had come from, but he could also make a very good guess at why he had run away and was living on his own, here in the U.S. -- so far from his home town, so very far from his country of origin.

Arthur _had_ been a little surprised when he had discovered that Eames had given him his real name, one of them. That had been something of a stupid move, Arthur thought. But maybe Eames didn't think anyone would care. Certainly he had no idea of the resources that Arthur had at his command. Arthur had no intention of using this intelligence against Eames though. Not unless the boy gave him damned good cause.

"Have you eaten yet?" he asked as soon as he had opened his door and taken in the ruffled hair and the sullen pout facing him resentfully. Eames looked even more mouth-watering than Arthur had remembered, and this was _such_ a bad idea. But it was too late to take it back now. Eames was here, and he had his bags piled around his feet like limp puppies. Well, he said "bags", but it was really nothing more than a tote and a backpack.

Arthur thought that this was possibly one of the saddest things he'd ever seen. He still admired Eames' balls in squatting and making it on his own, and he would have jumped his bones if he hadn't been so obviously underage -- a fact Arthur had definitively proven to himself when he'd tracked down Eames' personal information -- but now he just kind of wanted to stuff him full of cookies and soup and tuck him into bed with a kiss on that mussed hair.

Eames opened and closed his mouth a few times, as though he couldn't quite decide what to say. Taking pity on the boy, and concerned that if he didn't strong-arm him a little Eames might turn around and go, Arthur grabbed his tote and ushered him inside. "Come on. I have leftover pizza in the fridge, as long as you're okay with pepperoni."

He set the tote down beside his sofa quickly to prevent the young man from getting upset that he'd dared to touch it. It was heavy, as was the backpack to all appearances, and Arthur thought about living with all of his belongings stuffed into two bags. He wasn't overly materialistic, he thought, but the very notion horrified him to the depths of his being.

If he lost everything and had to start over, he could do it. But only having enough that would fit into two bags? No way. The contents of his closet alone would take up more space than that.

Eames didn't look as though he took much care where his wardrobe was concerned, Arthur mused, as the boy set his backpack carefully beside his tote. Everything was clean, or at least gave the appearance of being clean, and he didn't stink. But he was wearing worn jeans, a threadbare teeshirt, and a wrinkled flannel plaid over top. It all looked good on him, but it certainly didn't scream "fashionable" to Arthur.

"I'm not here because--" Eames scowled, sticking his hands in his pockets and hunching into himself in that really unattractive way that teen males tended to do. On him it didn't look as bad as usual, Arthur thought, but it didn't do him any favors either. "Look, I'm not here 'cause you offered, okay? It's just that the old harpy in the flat under mine has been asking too many questions lately."

Arthur nodded. He didn't feel compelled to point out that Mrs. Hudson was probably just worried about Eames, fretting that he wasn't eating right the way she tended to do; even where Arthur was concerned, which was ridiculous because he'd been an adult for ten years and had been taking care of himself for longer than that. Chances were she wouldn't call anyone in authority, but if it got Eames to accept Arthur's invite, he wasn't going to make that point.

"I have to get back to my work," he said, trying not to grin at Eames in triumph, because that would be in poor taste, and might chase him right back out the door again. "Like I said, there's pizza. Eat and drink anything you want, but don't touch anything alcoholic."

"I wouldn't," Eames snapped immediately, and Arthur nodded, recalling the information he had dredged up on the boy. it was nice to know that Eames was capable of learning positive behaviors from negative examples.

"Then we're good," he said mildly. "If you use the last of anything write it on the whiteboard. The guest room is the second door on the right down the hall. The bathroom is across from it. I'm going to assume you have your own bathing supplies, so feel free to shower if you want."

"I washed before I came," Eames protested, his chin raised. He seemed determined to start something, an argument if not a fight, but Arthur couldn't blame him. If the kid was squatting in a place as nice as Arthur's building -- which was far more hazardous than squatting in some hole in the wall, cheap-shit apartment that no one cared about -- and taking his clean clothes and relatively well-groomed demeanor into consideration, he probably had a fair amount of pride remaining.

It was nice to see that his self-respect hadn't been driven out of him, and also nice to think he wasn't prostituting himself, even though he could have made a good deal of money with a mouth like he had, Arthur thought. It made him wince to consider it, but he was just being realistic.

Well, he really had no way of knowing whether or not Eames was selling himself on the streets, but with the amount of pride the boy clearly had, Arthur thought that the probability was high that he hadn't yet stooped to that level.

"You can use the entertainment system," Arthur continued, waving a hand toward it. "But don't play anything too loudly after midnight. No guests, no exceptions. You can use the landline if it's local, but ask before making a long distance call. And nothing illegal goes down in my apartment."

Eames wrinkled his nose. "Aside from you offering to house an underage runaway," he taunted, and even that sounded like a challenge.

"We're ignoring that," Arthur replied loftily, waving it away with one hand. "This is a fluke, and just be aware it's against my better judgment." Before Eames could ask him why he was doing it then, he continued. "I meant no drugs. And if you're going to smoke cigarettes, do it on the balcony."

This time Eames grimaced, and it was just as cute as the nose wrinkle had been. It also helped Arthur to remember that this boy was only sixteen years and five months, which Arthur had verified when he'd looked him up that afternoon. "That pot was on Yusuf, mate," he said. "And I wouldn't smoke in the flat. Didn't smoke in the one downstairs. Don't like my clothes to stink."

"Then we understand one another," Arthur concluded with another nod, even though he was well aware that nothing could be further from the truth. "My office is the room before yours. Knock before you come in, but don't be afraid to let me know if you need anything or have any questions. Now, go eat something, then get your stuff unpacked."

"Is this really happening?" Eames asked in a low, husky rumble as Arthur turned and walked back toward his office. Arthur didn't think he was supposed to hear, but he had. He did have _very_ good hearing.

"Remember," he said, pausing and speaking over his shoulder. "I'll run you down and skin you alive if you try to rip me off. If you don't think I'm capable, just be aware that I know your first pet's name was Ginger. A man who can find that out can find you anywhere you choose to hide." He turned and gave Eames a measured look, softening his tone. "But as long as you treat me and my stuff with respect you can stay as long as you like. No strings, no obligations, and no expectations."

Eames had been staring at him with huge eyes and an open mouth, and didn't that fill Arthur's mind with a boatload of naughty thoughts about what he could do to those lush lips. Well, maybe if Eames weren't dangerously underage and a dangerous unknown.

Never mind that he was asking this unknown to _live_ with him for an indeterminate amount of time. Usually Arthur strove for greater specificity. But this attractive, compelling young man with the cock-sucking lips and the intelligent grey eyes was causing him to throw all common sense and all his normal methods of action out the window. He felt that he should regret this more than he did.

"You-- Why would--" Eames sputtered, before drawing himself up, and meeting Arthur's eyes levelly. "Why are you offering me a place to stay?" he asked, and he meant the question seriously, so Arthur answered honestly.

"I've always had a soft spot for strays. I can tell you're smarter than this, you have the potential to be better than you are. And besides," he gave it a moment's thought, realizing something and deciding it wouldn't hurt anything to share, "I have to admit that I get a little lonely."

"And you think I'll be good company?" Eames snorted, but there was something considering about his expression, as though he was giving serious thought to Arthur's words.

Arthur shrugged. "If you're not, I can train you to be. Now, I want to get my work done in the next couple of hours. Go and eat something, get moved in, and get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

And then he really did go to his office, leaving Eames looking confused and confounded in the living room. Whether the kid was still here in his apartment in the morning, Arthur would see. But he'd done as much as he could to convince him that he should stay.

***

This Arthur guy was completely off his nut, Eames thought as he wandered into the kitchen. He hated doing as directed, but he was famished and leftover pepperoni pizza sounded bloody amazing.

Instead of a microwave Arthur had a toaster oven, which Eames heated the pizza in. He had to admit, even though he wouldn't have said so to Arthur, that this was one of the best meals he'd had in a long time. Certainly since he had struck out on his own.

Arthur had the most organized refrigerator Eames had ever seen. He hadn't had to hunt for the pizza, and he could see that all there was to drink was bottled water, diet soda, and some wine that he wasn't allowed to touch -- not that he wanted to. Eames took a bottle of water because he'd be damned before he drank diet. What was the bloody point?

He could see from the meager contents of the fridge that Arthur didn't do much cooking, and he wondered if he'd be staying here long enough to do some of his own. He contemplated the whiteboard, thinking about adding all the ingredients to make them a delicious dinner the next night... but Arthur had said it was for things they ran out of, and besides, Eames didn't even know whether he'd still be here tomorrow. Or, if he were, whether he'd be allowed to cook.

He still couldn't quite believe he was here. But his stomach was full and he evidently had a real bed to sleep in, as well as the use of the man's shower. Well, he'd been able to shower in the flat he'd been using. The place might not have had electricity, but at least it had had running water. But it was more than the use of the shower. It was the idea that Eames would be standing naked in a place where Arthur stood naked. It was being naked in the flat when Arthur was here, _in_ Arthur's flat.

Then again, Eames wasn't naive. He had seen the way Arthur had looked at him, even though the man had clearly taken pains to hide it. He didn't think that his stay here would be strings-free, no matter what the man had said, no matter what he had explicitly stated. And he certainly didn't buy that Arthur had invited him because he was _lonely_ , even if he'd sounded honest when he'd said it.

Eames still wasn't sure how far he was willing to go, and he didn't know how much Arthur was going to ask from him, but he did know that Arthur was extremely good looking, and he made a good argument for Eames staying, and _he knew the name of Eames' first pet_ , which was more than a little terrifying. He probably even knew that Ginger had been a black male cat named after the goof's favorite biscuits.

All of these thoughts and more running through his mind, Eames grabbed his bags and went to examine the "guest room" that Arthur was willing to let him use. It was all still more than a little surreal, but he kind of thought that he'd have to make up his mind soon. He had a feeling that even though he'd eaten Arthur's pizza, if he ran now Arthur would let him go without a fuss. Once he'd gotten settled and there had been more back and forth of various kinds... well, that was when it was going to get messy if Eames decided to bail.

The guest room was right where Arthur had said it would be, and it was _very_ nice. Which wasn't surprising. The entire flat was disgustingly tasteful in a minimalist sort of way. Arthur clearly had exquisite taste, which made it all the more strange that he was willing to open his home to a piece of street scum like Eames.

Oh, Eames was aware that he was several steps up from the drug-addled, disease-riddled teens that filled up Juvie and the missions. Hell, he made sure he was clean and had clean clothes, even if he had to pan-handle or flat-out steal for the quarters to use in the Laundromat. He made a point of not getting addicted to anything, and he certainly didn't sell any part of his body, though he'd had offers. Fairly lucrative ones, in fact, and if he didn't have his pride....

Well, but he did. And he'd yet to get shed of his virginity, which was faintly ridiculous for a guy his age, but he'd been too busy staying alive, clean, fed, and all in one piece. And even then, it hadn't so much been lack of opportunity as it had been lack of a partner he wasn't disgusted by. So there was that.

Arthur, on the other hand. He was definitely hot. And not only that but he was smart and generous, at least in appearance, and he was _dangerous_. He didn't look it, but Eames had gotten the message loud and clear, and he couldn't help that this made Arthur that much more interesting to him. Damn him for having a self-destructive attraction toward guys who could destroy him....

He didn't think that was Arthur's plan, though.

Eames really had no idea what Arthur's plan might entail, but he was willing to at least spend the night. He'd see how that went, see how things progressed from there.... If Arthur came into his room once he was done with his work and wanted to _touch_ him, wanted Eames to let him do things.... Well, Eames hadn't decided whether or not he'd go along, but he highly suspected yes.

Because he might still have his pride and a healthy sense of self respect, but Arthur was dead hot, and Eames had a powerful suspicion that he wouldn't mind at all rolling over for him.

Well, he'd play it by ear, yeah? And for tonight at least he had a nice firm mattress, soft pillows, and clean cotton sheets to sleep on. And for that alone, he thought, he'd gladly have given Arthur a suck job. Never mind the pepperoni pizza.

Eames fell asleep quickly, and he was never quite sure afterward whether he was relieved or disappointed that Arthur never showed up and that he slept through the night unmolested.

***

Arthur woke the next morning to the smell of coffee, which was not a surprise considering that he had set it to brew on a timer the night before, and the scent of frying bacon, which _was_ surprising, because he knew damned well that he didn't have anything like that in his refrigerator.

He wasn't at all surprised when he entered the kitchen to find Eames standing in front of his stove, wielding a spatula, his other hand steadying the frying pan that Arthur was pretty sure he'd only used once or twice since he'd bought it.

"Your cupboards are freaking bare, mate," Eames drawled, turning and flashing his crooked front teeth at Arthur in a broad grin that didn't seem feigned. He looked much the same as he had the night before, his hair perhaps more of a mess, and there was a hint of stubble around the edges of his jaw, shades of the man he was in the process of growing into. "Had to make an emergency run."

Arthur quirked a brow and made his way over to pour himself his morning cup of coffee. Normally he didn't eat breakfast, but if someone else were willing to cook it, he might make an exception. However....

"Where did you get the bacon?" he asked, sipping his steaming coffee and blinking mildly at the pans on the stovetop. "And the eggs? And... are those mushrooms?"

Eames shrugged smoothly. He was wearing a long-sleeve teeshirt that had seen better days and a pair of sweatpants that might once have been black, and he was barefoot. Arthur took a moment to appreciate those broad shoulders and narrow hips, the gorgeous, tight ass under the worn material of his pants, and he kind of wanted to _touch_ all of that burgeoning virility, but Eames was off bounds. At least for another year and a half.

"Made a run to the store," Eames replied, poking at what looked like a truly amazing omelet. "Your keys were in the bowl by the entrance; not particularly safe, by the way. I put 'em back when I was done."

Arthur nodded, not minding in the slightest. In fact, he was glad to know that Eames hadn't gone out and just left the door unlocked, or picked his way back in.

"I meant where did the ingredients come from," he clarified, getting down a couple of plates and collecting silverware, setting two places at the table in the kitchen nook.

"I have some cash," Eames said indignantly, scowling at him. Arthur couldn't tell if he wanted more to pinch Eames' cheeks or bend him over the counter and claim those lush lips with his own. He did neither, of course, but instead poured himself more coffee.

"Well, _had_ ," Eames continued ruefully, looking incredibly open and vulnerable for a moment even though he was smiling. "But it's worth it for a proper breakfast. You really need to make a grocery run."

Arthur seated himself as Eames brought over the frying pan and doled out the eggs, then went back for the bacon. "I'll give you some cash and send you out later today, if that's all right," he offered. "I just don't have the time or inclination to make myself meals. I'll pay you back for this as well," he offered, indicating his deliciously loaded plate.

Eames was scowling again at he flopped down across from Arthur. "No need," he snapped sulkily, grabbing his fork and stabbing at a sliver of green pepper. This really was one of the best omelets Arthur had ever seen. Golden with just a hint of brown, and the perfect amount of red and green peppers, onions, and mushrooms to liven it up. He was pretty sure there was some shredded cheese in there as well. "I'm not a mooch. Just because you're giving me a place to sleep doesn't mean I can't still fend for myself."

"All right," Arthur said mildly. He had no desire to press the issue, and he'd obviously hit a nerve without meaning to. "The offer to send you shopping still stands, though. Unless you want take-in every night."

From the face Eames pulled, Arthur already had his answer even before the boy said, "I'll make up a list after breakfast."

Arthur nodded and they both dove into their delicious omelets and crisp bacon. Arthur loved his coffee, but he had to admit that, "A little orange juice would suit this, I think."

Eames nodded, giving Arthur a look that he couldn't really read from under long lashes. His lower lip plumped, fat and ruddy and glistening with bacon grease. Arthur kind of really wanted to lick it and then maybe bite it a little. "I was going to get some... didn't have enough cash on me, though."

Arthur had enough sense not to offer to pay him back for the breakfast ingredients again, because he rarely made the same mistake twice, but he did say, "Go ahead and add it to the list. That way we'll have some tomorrow."

Eames nodded, then gave Arthur another queer look. "Are you.... Are you really going to let me stay here, then?"

"That was the plan," Arthur replied, and he couldn't help grinning a little, even though he usually tried to keep smiling to a minimum because he knew it made him look younger and softer. "The fact that you can cook is a bonus."

Eames gave him a speculative look, but didn't argue. And then they spent the rest of the meal discussing what Eames was going to cook them for dinner.

It wasn't as awkward as it should have been, Arthur thought. Maybe he hadn't made the worst decision in the world.

Of course, only time would really tell.

***

When Arthur smiled he flashed some truly devastating dimples, and Eames found that he was not as unaffected as he might have liked to believe he was.

Moving in here was still an amazingly bad idea, and he still thought Arthur was plain crazy to have put forth the offer without knowing a thing about Eames. Other than the fact that he was willing to squat, and whatever he'd gleaned of Eames' past from the internet or wherever he'd gotten his info.

Well, Eames admitted in the privacy of his head, it had to have been something a little more in-depth than a simple internet search if Arthur had come off with the name of Eames' first pet. That certainly wasn't posted anywhere online that Eames knew of.

Still, Eames was here, and if he was going to be doing grocery runs and cooking for Arthur, then it looked as though he was here to stay. As incredible and impossible as that seemed. Eames thought he recalled hearing about some movie with a plot sort of like this, from back before he was born, but he wasn't a hooker and Arthur didn't seem to be asking anything from him in return for his stay here....

Well, he wasn't asking or taking _yet_. That didn't mean he wasn't going to. Eames wasn't stupid. He knew that nobody just let some homeless teen move in with them for completely altruistic reasons. Arthur seemed like a nice guy -- which Eames more than suspected was something of a facade, considering the oblique threats he'd uttered -- but even nice guys didn't do things like this. Especially considering how stupid it was, and how smart Arthur obviously was.

So, Eames thought as he unloaded groceries and filled up the practically empty fridge and cupboards, clearly Arthur was going to want payment. Letting Eames cook for them was a start, but he hadn't known that he'd be getting that when he'd made his invitation. Which meant that there _had_ to be more to it.

And maybe it was shallow of him, but Eames thought that he really didn't have much problem with either the thought or the reality of it. Arthur was not only incredibly good looking, but he was both dangerous and nice at once, and he was intelligent, relatively wealthy, dressed like he was going out even when he stayed in, and he didn't treat Eames like a kid, he treated him with respect, as an equal.

After all, Eames had fooled around with blokes who had a lot less to offer, and with a lot less reason than Arthur gave him.

When the first day ended and Arthur still hadn't made a move, staying holed up in his office and leaving Eames free rein over the rest of the flat, Eames decided that maybe he'd have to take things in his own hands. Maybe that was what Arthur wanted from him, what he expected Eames to do.

Catching Arthur in bed, however, was a lot harder in reality than it sounded on paper.

The first night, Eames had crawled into the bed in the guest room and fallen asleep before midnight, well before Arthur had emerged from his office. Or so Eames assumed, since he himself had slept through the night. He'd been a little surprised to wake the next morning from an uninterrupted sleep, but maybe Arthur had just been giving him a chance to settle in first.

The next night Arthur left in the early evening, directly after dinner, and told Eames not to wait up for him, that he wouldn't be back until the next day. Not that Eames had been planning on waiting up, but once he heard that he definitely didn't bother. So there went that chance.

Eames could be patient, that was one of his better qualities. But there was patience, and there was the sword dangling over his head, and so on the evening of the third day he decided to just bite the bullet and take the bull by the horns, to mix metaphors, and maybe he'd been living in the U.S. for too long if those trite phrases had crept into his lexicon.

He'd made them dinner, enjoying doing so quite a bit more than he was comfortable admitting to. His first morning here, Arthur had given him a set of keys so that Eames didn't have to nick Arthur's again when he went out for groceries. He hadn't offered Eames use of his car, but that was all right; Eames didn't have anything so legitimate as a driving license here in the States anyway. Eames would have been awed and frankly appalled by the amount of trust in Eames that the keys had shown, except he was smart enough to remember Arthur's threats to end Eames if he ripped him off. And _that_ was actually far better to him than any foolish trust would have been.

Arthur wasn't a very talkative guy, but he did tell Eames how much he appreciated the meals he cooked. Eames had made a trip to the grocer each day in order to fetch fresh supplies, and he was starting to think he might need to acquire a cookbook or two, because he was rapidly running through the limited repertoire of recipes he could make from memory. He didn't want to start repeating himself, or be reduced to boxed macaroni and cheese or something equally hideous.

Once dinner was over and the dishes done -- a chore they shared, and it didn't take long thanks to the shiny new dishwasher Arthur owned -- they repaired to the living room. Arthur had brought his laptop out of his office and had taken a few books down off the packed bookshelf, doing what looked to be some intensive research on the coffee table.

Eames found himself wondering again how Arthur made his living. That he was well off was obvious. He seemed to work from home most days, but he'd gone out the night before.... Unless that had been for pleasure. Eames didn't like to think about that, though. Even though he'd only been here a couple of days, the thought of Arthur leaving the flat to bang someone when he could have stayed in and fucked Eames... well, it kind of dealt Eames' pride a blow, didn't it?

After all, Eames had to lose his virginity some time, yeah? And Arthur was not only incredibly sexy, but he was also incredibly efficient, and consistently polite. Eames might be way off the mark, but it seemed to him that Arthur would make a good job of popping his cherry.

And even if not... well, he owed the man. There was no way Arthur was letting him stay here for free. Even if that _had_ been his intent, which Eames didn't believe for a moment, Eames' own pride wouldn't have let him simply live off the man without offering _something_ in return.

And that something couldn't just be cooking, even though Eames _was_ pretty good at that, he had to say. Hell, Arthur told him so with each meal he made them. Eames was convinced that they could both of them use some meat on their bones, even if they were both mostly muscle, and so he made sure to make plenty, made sure that they both ate breakfast every morning.

At any rate. Eames was fine with cooking to earn his keep, but there had to be more to it than that. Arthur had given him a legitimate place to stay, so that he no longer needed to squat or stay in the local mission. He'd done the second from time to time out of desperation, and he'd almost have rather slept in an alleyway. Almost. Squatting was definitely preferable, no matter how many times he had to move. But living here was so much better than any of his other options.

So he owed Arthur. Big time. He got a bed, food he didn't have to pay for, use of the bathroom, as well as the washing machine for his clothing. It couldn't have been more perfect, and he couldn't have been more ready to suck Arthur's cock in return.

Add to that the fact that from what he could tell in the fitted trousers the man wore, Arthur had a very nice cock. And there was also that air of danger. Eames had spent part of the night Arthur had been out snooping, and he'd found no less than three carefully concealed handguns in various spots throughout the flat. He didn't doubt there were more, and he'd felt a spark of excitement handling them. Not because they were guns; Eames didn't much care for the thought of killing people. But because they were Arthur's, and it was obvious that Arthur knew how to use them.

Eames had carefully put them back, exactly as he had found them, and gone to take care of his hard-on in the shower before heading to bed. He supposed there was something wrong with him, getting off to the thought of Arthur's fine, nimble fingers as he handled the guns... but he couldn't help where his mind went, and where it took his cock.

Eames had dealt with plenty of dangerous types since striking out on his own, of course. But none of them had been full of _controlled_ danger, the way Arthur was. And Eames found that this was just as sexually stimulating to him as the man's dimples, lean body, and elegant hands.

He had no problem with the idea of getting on his knees for Arthur, and so, since he wasn't the sort to prevaricate, that was what he did. Going to his knees in front of Arthur that evening while he was sitting on the sofa. Honestly, he was getting tired of waiting.

"No," Arthur said, grabbing immediately at Eames' hair and holding him still where he knelt. The man's instincts were nothing short of phenomenal, but why was he _stopping_ Eames?

Eames pouted up at him, bringing lips that he knew to be full and tempting into play.

"Come on," he wheedled, placing his palms on those incredibly tight thighs. It somehow seemed daring and intimate, which was a little silly considering that Eames fully intended on sucking Arthur's cock within minutes.

"I don't want this," Arthur told him clearly, his fingers tightening in Eames' hair, tugging at his scalp and making him throb in his jeans.

"At the risk of sounding cheeky," Eames argued, reaching and boldly placing his hand on Arthur's cock, which was definitely hard and getting harder, throbbing underneath his palm through the material of Arthur's trousers, "That's bullshit."

Arthur's free hand snapped forward, strong fingers closing around Eames' wrist and dragging his hand away from Arthur's crotch. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and Eames congratulated himself on having _some_ effect, but for the most part the man remained collected and calm. His eyes were sharp, assessing, as they ran over Eames' face.

"All right," he conceded finally. "I won't lie to you and tell you I don't want this. It's pretty obvious to both of us that I do. But it's not something I expect from you as some sort of payment system. If you want to earn your keep, that's fine, but we'll discuss some other way you can do it. Some way that isn't illegal and morally reprehensible. Now, come and sit beside me on the sofa and we'll talk."

And to his complete and utter shock, Eames did as directed. Probably because he was so surprised by Arthur's words. It was pretty much the polar opposite of what he had been expecting.

"Look," Arthur said before Eames could get his tongue working enough to speak. "I know what it might have looked like, so I'm not upset. But that's not why you're here. This might sound crazy, but if I wanted a sexual partner, I'm pretty sure I could go out and find one; someone willing, someone who's of age and not likely to get me arrested."

Eames wanted to agree with Arthur that he'd have no problem finding a willing lover, he wanted to argue that he hadn't been doing this out of obligation, and most of all he wanted to punch Arthur for thinking of him as a kid, even if he was speaking to him as though he was an adult. But he couldn't get his stupid mouth and brain to work together. He was still a little hung up on the fact that he'd _had his hand on Arthur's cock_ , and that he didn't any longer. It was like something he wanted more than anything had been snatched away from him, and it was hard not to react like the squalling child Arthur clearly thought he was.

Arthur was still talking, and he looked adorably earnest. If Eames' face hadn't been beginning to burn with humiliation and frustration, he might have echoed that expression back at Arthur, but as it was, he had to bite the inside of his lip sharply to keep angry tears from sparking in his eyes.

"You're attractive, and I'm attracted to you," Arthur continued, and Eames wasn't sure whether he wanted more to kiss him or slap him, but he had to hold himself completely still in order to not explode. "I'm not denying that. But I don't want you to feel obligated or coerced. I'm repeating to you, that's not why you're here."

"Then why am I?" Eames blurted out before he could stop himself, and he knew he was red and getting redder, and his voice had quavered in a way that made him want to sink into the floor and die, but he was embarrassed and feeling rejected, and part of him was convinced that if he'd just acted faster and gotten Arthur unzipped before the man could protest, he could have what he wanted right now; what they both wanted, if Arthur was telling the truth.

Arthur gave him a look that he couldn't read but didn't like. "I already told you. Because I didn't like to see you squatting. Because I want to help you do something better with your life. And, yes, part of it was because of your looks, but I never expected you to earn your keep that way."

Eames blinked, feeling as though his brain was going to tear itself in half. Arthur was giving him dreadfully mixed signals here, he thought angrily.

"I would make it good," he offered, and he no longer felt like he was going to cry, but he wasn't sure what he felt, and that was disconcerting. "I would make it _great_!"

Those high patches of hectic colour on Arthur's cheekbones were one small triumph, and Eames didn't think he was imagining the gleam of predatory hunger in those warm brown eyes. He wanted to push and keep pushing until Arthur tumbled him, but he didn't want Arthur to feel like the bad guy, and he kind of thought that Arthur was wrong-headed enough to take it that way. It seemed like a stupid hang-up when they both wanted this, but Eames found in an unexpected rush that somehow he had grown to _like_ Arthur, maybe even to respect him, and he didn't want the man to feel bad.

"That's not the point," Arthur said sharply, and Eames knew that he was still hard in his nice trousers, but he also knew now that he couldn't do anything about it. "The point is that you are _not_ going to pay your way in sex. I didn't give you a safe place in order to take advantage of you."

"It wouldn't be--" Eames cut himself off and pressed his lips together. It didn't matter what he said to Arthur, the man was going to have an argument to shoot back at him. The point here was obviously that even if Arthur said he wanted Eames he wasn't going to let himself have him, not even when Eames offered himself up on a silver platter. And it didn't matter if he said he was attracted to Eames, and it didn't matter if he laid the blame for his reticence on Eames' age, the fact of the matter was that he _didn't want Eames_.

"Fine," Eames snarled, jumping up. And he knew he wasn't reacting maturely, and he knew he was hard in his jeans, but right now the only thing that mattered was getting the hell away from Arthur. Supercilious, self-righteous prick! He probably didn't even want Eames, was probably just saying that as a sop to his ego!

"Eames," Arthur tried, but Eames slammed out of the living room and into his-- into the _guest_ room. Leaving Arthur to his work, and he could have it. He certainly didn't want _Eames_.

The fact that Eames didn't grab his bags and take off after this unequivocal rejection was something that probably surprised him more than it did Arthur. Then again, Arthur didn't seem to be surprised by much, the bastard.

But Eames didn't pack up and he didn't leave. He went to bed and jerked off defiantly, then he slept fitfully. And he woke up the next morning and toddled into the kitchen the same as he'd done the last two days to make them both breakfast.

He still wasn't sure why he was here. Not why Arthur had given him a place to stay, and not why he was _staying_. But until he figured that out, _and_ figured out how to get into Arthur's trousers... well, it was a comfortable place to be.

Certainly better than squatting, anyway.

***

Eames was still there the next morning, making them breakfast as though nothing had happened. And so even though there was a faintly sullen expression on his face, his eyes dark and focused when he looked at Arthur, Arthur figured it was best to play along and act as though nothing had happened the night before.

He couldn't say he hadn't been expecting something of the sort.... But, on the other hand, he had been a little startled by how bold Eames had been. In retrospect, thinking it over -- because he hadn't been able to think of anything _else_ since it had happened -- he should have known that a young man who had the balls to choose to squat in a nice, upper-class apartment where he was more likely to be caught wouldn't have been the type to prevaricate or be shy about something like this.

Well, it was over with, and while Eames hadn't seemed receptive to his words, had actually taken offense and stormed out of the room, Arthur had made himself clear and Eames was still here. So they must have come to some sort of understanding....

"Listen," Arthur said, once they were done eating, because he hadn't wanted to spoil the delicious meal Eames had made for them by bringing up the subject before then. "If you want some way to earn your keep other than cooking and being good company, I've got some busywork I wouldn't mind shunting off on you."

Eames gave him a confused scowl, and Arthur couldn't help grinning at him. The kid was usually pretty put together, kept up a smooth, slightly jaded facade most of the time, and so it was amusing to Arthur when he could rattle him loose from this.

Eames was always in motion, wasn't inclined to Arthur's deeply-ingrained calm. But he did make an effort to mask that trait. Arthur had the powerful feeling, made even stronger by the way Eames had taken offense and flounced out of the living room the night before when Arthur had refused to let him blow him, that there was a very volatile nature underneath the surface. And not very far underneath, either.

Well, he had no doubt that if they continued to live together, he would see more of that temper. In the meantime, he had to find a way to placate his new housemate.

"What, you mean like research?" Eames asked, still frowning but now looking more confused than upset.

Arthur grimaced slightly. "Nothing so interesting, I'm afraid," he said, rising and taking their plates over to the sink. "Though I might have some of that for you later, if you prove yourself. No, this is more a matter of going through a year's worth of receipts looking for one thing in particular."

"Ugh." Eames pulled a face. Then he nodded. "Yeah, I'll do it. Beats sitting around watching daytime programming."

Arthur snorted. "That's a flat-out lie. But I appreciate it."

Eames shrugged. "Gotta earn my keep somehow. Cooking isn't going to cut it. And somehow I think that any cash I might manage to give you would only be suspect."

"You think correctly," Arthur replied, giving Eames a small smirk, pleased because Eames was discussing this subject with him reasonably, wasn't throwing another fit, but not able to show it for fear of offending the kid again. "I'm not hurting for cash, anyway. I'd definitely value help with my work more than money."

Eames nodded again, and his expression was unreadable, but there was definitely some easing of the tension between them. "Then I'll help you with your work. Gladly."

Arthur had to admit that he was a little surprised, but pleasantly so. It was nice to find that Eames wished to pay his way as much from a sense of responsibility as from a sense of obligation. Until Arthur had made the offer he just had, he hadn't been sure.

Now he just needed to see how accurate Eames could be. He wasn't going to trust him with anything essential until he'd proved himself, but this first task was something that would be helpful to him if Eames could pull it off.

It was probably a good idea to give Eames something to keep him occupied during the day anyway, Arthur thought. Keep him out of trouble. If his actions in giving Eames a place to stay had been truly altruistic, he'd have tried to get Eames back in school... but that never would have worked. Arthur had already made a mental note to get some papers made for Eames, making it appear legal for him to be in the States, and naming Arthur as his legal guardian, so getting him enrolled in school wouldn't have been the issue.

No, convincing Eames would have been the problem. First of all, trying to talk him into attending school with a bunch of insipid kids his age wouldn't have gone well. And even harder would have been convincing him that he _needed_ to go to school. The hardest thing would have been talking Eames into these things when Arthur himself didn't believe either of them. He could teach Eames far more than any government mandated curriculum ever could have.

Not that he was thinking of doing so. Not that he was planning so far in the future when Eames might take off at any moment. Not that Arthur was assuming that much responsibility where Eames was concerned....

All right, that last might be a lie. It very definitely was a lie. He still thought that he was crazy for bringing Eames into his home like this, but the kid hadn't let him down yet. There were many valuable items just sitting around that Eames could have fenced or pawned, but he hadn't touched them. His clothing sat in pitiful little piles in one drawer of the dresser in the guest room. He cooked their meals every day.

It was all becoming frighteningly domestic, and yet Arthur couldn't bring himself to regret it, to wish it was different. And he sort of wanted to help Eames to reach his full potential. The boy was definitely smart and Arthur sincerely thought that he could be brilliant. To imagine that he could harness and use that potential might have been a bit egomaniacal of him, but certainly there was nothing wrong with getting Eames to help him with his busywork. Especially if actual application proved that Eames was adept at it.

"So what is it you do?" Eames asked, and he tried so hard to make it sound casual that it was almost convincing. Maybe if Arthur didn't have such a good ear, he would have bought it. Eames was definitely a good actor; Arthur could almost have believed that he'd _wanted_ to suck his dick the night before.

"Troubleshoot, mostly," Arthur replied, giving Eames a sliver of a smile that told him to back off. He trusted that Eames would be intelligent enough to get the message, but he also knew that he'd be curious enough that he might not let it go. "I'm mostly freelance."

"And that tells me nothing at all," Eames said dryly, and one corner of those amazingly plump lips quirked up in a small grin, even though his eyes were still dark and wary.

"It tells you enough," Arthur replied with a shrug. "And I know that you're smart enough to recognize that fact."

Eames' eyes slitted until he resembled Cobb, somewhat disconcertingly. "Yeah... I guess," he drawled, and Arthur figured they understood each other well enough. He also knew that if Eames continued to pry he might well be able to find out more. But never enough to put him in the line of danger; Arthur would make very certain of that if nothing else.

Arthur was already aware that Eames had found his handguns. Well, three of them. That was by no means that extend of his stash, but the ones Eames had found had been so well hidden that Arthur had been suitably impressed. Eames had put them back exactly as he had found them, but it had been obvious to Arthur that he'd handled them. He didn't think Eames had gone out of his way to cover up the fact that he'd found them. There'd been fingerprints that had not been Arthur's, and the dust around the hiding places had been disturbed. Between these facts and the care that Eames had taken otherwise, Arthur surmised that Eames had known better than to try to pretend he hadn't found them, but he appreciated the preciseness with which Eames had replaced them.

Eames soon proved to have the same unerring eye, combined with the arrogant sloppiness, when it came to work. He disordered Arthur's piles, dog-eared his folders, and got chip grease on unimportant, replaceable documents, but he also got the job done in the same amount of time it would have taken Arthur. Sometimes more quickly, though Arthur was loath to admit to that fact.

Eames didn't stop snooping, so Arthur made certain that anything really important was well protected, but nothing ever went missing. For all any given area around his person was generally a mess, Eames did clean up after himself promptly, so Arthur had no complaints there. Well, he _did_ complain, and then Eames laughed at him, but it was easy and friendly, and no one's feelings got hurt.

Once Eames had proved himself trustworthy enough to handle a fair amount of Arthur's busywork, Arthur insisted on paying him a small wage. Eames tried to protest, saying that his room and board were plenty, but Arthur cited all of the time Eames was freeing up for him, time in which he was able to work more jobs and thus earn more money.

"I would feel like a world class asshole if I didn't pay you at least a little," he'd argued, and Eames had grumbled, but he'd accepted the logic of it, and the pittance that Arthur gave him. Arthur would have given him more, but the look on Eames' face the first time he had named a larger sum had been enough to deter him. It boggled him a little at first, that Eames would refuse honestly earned cash... but then he realized that the boy's pride wouldn't allow him to accept what he saw as pity money, and it made a great deal more sense.

In this way a week quickly passed. Eames left from time to time, and as long as he locked up behind himself and didn't bring anyone back to the apartment, Arthur didn't mind. He'd given Eames the false paperwork but hadn't told him he'd set himself up as his guardian, because he didn't think the latter would go over well. Eames had been grateful and impressed, and even more convinced that whatever Arthur did for a living it was illegal. And since Arthur couldn't quite tell him it wasn't -- even though "not legal" wasn't the same thing as "illegal" -- they both kept quiet about it.

Certainly Eames had no room to judge Arthur when it came to that sort of thing. And he was willing enough to lend a hand when there was work to do. It was strangely companionable, Arthur thought. It had been a long time since he'd worked with someone other than himself, and even longer since he'd worked with someone he could _trust_.

Not that he completely trusted Eames. But he trusted him not to fuck up his work, and he trusted him not to do anything detrimental to himself and his life here in Arthur's apartment. So there was that.

Things might have gone on this way for some time longer... or maybe not. Arthur really had no way of knowing after the fact. Because what really happened was far more dramatic than anything he could have anticipated.

Really, it was faintly ridiculous. But the ridiculous got a little lost under the stress of it all.

One thing Arthur could say about his life; it was often boring, but it never remained so for long.

He must have forgotten that fact when he'd invited a homeless sixteen year old to live with him.

***

The morning of the "great upheaval", as Eames later liked to call it in his head, began like any other morning. He got up, took his jog around the block, then showered, jerked-off, and after getting dressed he went to make breakfast.

He sort of wondered if this was what having a job would be like. He didn't have to leave the flat to do his work for Arthur, of course. But keeping to a routine, getting up early when he could have stayed in bed all day, doing something not because he wanted to but because he felt it was expected of him.... He knew he had it a hell of a lot better than most of the office drones out there, but he wasn't foundering any longer, wasn't just killing time until something better came along.

It came to him as he stood in front of the stove, turning the bacon with great deliberation, that _this_ might be the "something better". It was certainly more than he'd thought he'd have when he'd been squatting in the flat below Arthur's....

It would have been nice if Yusuf had stopped referring to Arthur as Eames' "Sugar Daddy", of course, but Yusuf was kind of an arsehole when he wasn't being a stupidly nice guy. There was no middle ground with him, and that was one of the things Eames liked about him, part of the reason they were friends.

Of course, Yusuf had also been all for Eames moving _out_ of Arthur's flat until he'd heard from Eames that they _weren't_ sleeping together -- and Eames figured it was the tone of utter disgust and exasperation that had convinced Yusuf he was telling the truth -- which was also a good part of the reasons they were friends. Eames didn't need someone looking after him, he could take care of himself, goddamn it, but it was nice to know that Yusuf cared.

It was also nice having a little pocket money that he'd rightfully earned. Not that he thought _Arthur_ had gotten it through legitimate means... but what he gave to Eames had been properly earned.

Eames was actually kind of relieved to realize that Arthur wasn't a fine upstanding citizen or anything. He'd thought at first that he might be a lawyer or something, especially with all the paperwork he had to slog through, and the busywork he shunted off onto Eames. But the hidden weaponry and the perfect forged papers had worked together to convince Eames that there was no way on God's Green Earth that Arthur was something so mundane as a pencil pusher. Never mind the fact that he left the flat and returned at strange hours, not conducive to keeping up a "normal" job.

Arthur wandered into the kitchen just before Eames was done with his cooking, with that impeccable timing of his, already buttoned up and pomaded to face the world. Eames had seen him with bed-head and he'd seen him fresh out of the shower, but only rarely. It was a treat, and one all too quickly whipped away from him, but Eames savoured every delicious moment of seeing Arthur rumpled, and he wasn't ashamed to use it as wank fodder.

Hey, if Arthur wasn't willing to bed him....

"I'm going to be out most of the afternoon," Arthur informed Eames as they sat down to eat. "I've left the papers I need you to go through on the coffee table. I'll text you if I'm going to be late for dinner; hopefully in enough time to make a difference."

Eames nodded. One of the things he'd let Arthur get for him had been a mobile phone. Arthur had argued that it was no extra charge to add it to his plan, and Eames was _reasonably_ certain he was telling the truth. And, after all, he only really used it to communicate with Arthur. Eames wasn't exactly rolling in friends, and Yusuf didn't own a mobile.

"I want to talk to you about something once I get home," Arthur added, and Eames' stomach did that sick _swoop_ thing that he couldn't control at the serious expression on Arthur's face. Arthur seemed to pick up on this, and he smiled at Eames slightly, his features softening. Eames was kind of stupidly in love with Arthur's dimples. "Don't worry. It's nothing major. I'd talk about it now, but I have to get running. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Eames grunted, and he was a little reassured, but not a lot. In his experience, "talking about something" was never good. Even though he didn't think there was any way Arthur could screw him over, not the way that other adults in his life had done.

Hell, Arthur had mostly done good things for him, and Eames was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it had been nearly a week now, and he was beginning to wonder if it was going to happen at all. He might be a cynical bastard, but he also knew better than to reject something good just because he was expecting something bad... didn't he?

Well, it was tough. Eames had to stay on his guard. There was no way that Arthur had invited him to move in simply because he wanted the company. If he didn't want sex from Eames, he must want _something_. And a little help with his paperwork couldn't be the extent of it. Eames still needed to figure out what it was that Arthur really wanted from him, and then he could decide whether or not he wanted to give it to him.

The afternoon of the "great upheaval" was just as dull as Eames' afternoons generally were. With all of his physical needs taken care of he didn't need to get out of the flat and go find less than ideal ways of gaining money. He did the dishes, did some laundry, snooped around Arthur's office a little more -- even though he knew perfectly well by this point that Arthur had all the best stuff carefully locked up -- then settled down with some quiet daytime programming to get some work done.

As he yawned his way through two years' worth of phone bills, Eames thought that maybe _this_ was the other shoe. Maybe Arthur really was on the up and up, because he seemed determined to _bore_ Eames to death. Or at least into submission. Not that Eames hadn't had boring days before, when he was supporting himself. But things had generally been pretty interesting most of time, even though that had more often been a bad thing than good.

Exciting things _had_ to happen to Arthur, Eames thought defiantly, as he got up and made himself a sandwich for lunch, taking his sweet time because finishing up meant going back to the deadly dull busywork. After all, the man didn't own hidden guns as a bizarre sort of hobby... did he?

Eames snorted to himself at the thought. Would just figure if he'd fallen in with a nutter. But somehow he didn't think that was the case. Arthur had guns, hidden guns, and common sense dictated that he had to use them on occasion, right?

Not for the first time, Eames wished that Arthur would just _tell_ him what he did for a living. He knew that he wouldn't, but Eames _had_ asked, perfectly politely. It was frustrating mainly because Eames had no good way of finding out on his own. If he could have just sussed it out by now it wouldn't be such a problem.

And then maybe, _maybe_ Eames would have had a better idea of what to do, in the early evening on the day of the "great upheaval", when three big blokes with hand cannons burst into Arthur's flat and essentially took him hostage.

***

The benefits to Arthur's job were that he got to earn money doing something he loved, he set his own hours, and he decided his own workload.

The drawbacks were the fact that it was on the wrong side of legal, could occasionally be dangerous, and that when an employer was displeased with his performance they often reacted with something a bit more forceful than a simple writing-up.

They usually knew better than to go after him in his own home, however, which was why he was actually a little surprised to come home to find that his former employer and the man's two most loyal goons were camped out in his living room, the biggest thug holding a very large, very threatening gun to Eames' temple.

It was obvious from the bruising around his eye and his split lip that Eames had tried to fight back, but just as obvious that he'd been taken out quickly. Probably hadn't had time to even try for the nearest of Arthur's hidden guns, he thought. Too bad he hadn't told Eames about the one in the arm of the sofa. Then again, if Eames had pulled a gun on these guys, they probably would have shot him on the spot. So maybe it was just as well.

Not that Eames wasn't in danger right now, of course. Arthur paused a moment to take in the tableau. Eames was hurt but he didn't look scared. If anything he was radiating red-hot fury. Arthur would have been amused if he hadn't been so concerned. He hoped Eames hadn't been mouthing off too much. But at least he was still alive.

"Hello, Donovan," Arthur greeted, before his former employer could say anything, effectively claiming the initial advantage. Well, if one discounted the _hostage_ that Donovan and his goons had. "Didn't expect to see you again. Much less in my own apartment."

He glanced in distaste at the broken door. That wasn't going to be cheap to replace. Of course, depending on how this went, he might need to vacate the apartment altogether.

"Arthur," Donovan sneered, and the man wasn't even armed, Arthur noted with scorn that he was careful to _mostly_ keep from his face. "I'd like the money you exhorted from me back."

Arthur let out an incredulous snort. "Really? I'm sorry, Donovan, but I completed the job as specified, and in less time than we agree upon. It's hardly my fault that the result wasn't what you wanted. That was beyond my control, and I shouldn't be penalized for it."

The whole time he was talking, Arthur was assessing his situation and contemplating what actions would be best to take. This would all be easier if Eames wasn't here, if Eames didn't have _a gun to his head_ , but it wasn't completely unworkable. Arthur had known heading into the apartment that something was up -- the broken door alone would have given that away -- and so he was not unarmed, even if he wasn't waving a gun around like Donovan's goons. It was mainly a matter of getting everything taken care of without putting Eames in too much danger. Or, rather, more than he was already in.

It helped that Donovan didn't have a gun in his hand. He probably had one on his person somewhere, but he was unprepared, had badly underestimated Arthur, and Arthur intended to use that fact to his advantage.

Almost before Arthur had done speaking his piece, Donovan began blustering, but Arthur was focused and paid him no heed other than to keep the corner of his eye on his hands. Instead, he honed in on the two goons, and especially the one who was holding onto Eames.

"Eames," Arthur said, meeting the boy's flashing eyes and trying to convey both determination and confidence. To his credit Eames looked wary and a little nervous, but he still didn't seem scared.

"Yeah?"

"Don't move," Arthur instructed Eames firmly, flicking his small handgun out of its wrist holster and into his hand, then taking careful aim.

"Right," Eames replied, standing perfectly still, not so much as blinking.

Arthur spared half a moment to regret what he was about to do, what it was going to mean to Eames, but it was preferable to letting the boy be shot or perhaps kidnapped to be used against him. Eames didn't deserve any of that.

One quick shot between the eyes took care of the man holding Eames, and before he had even hit the floor, Arthur had dispatched the second goon similarly. Donovan was still sputtering in shock and trying to draw his own weapon when Arthur took care of him. There would be no hesitation, no mercy, and no second chances when they had invaded Arthur's home and threatened Eames' life. Arthur felt no guilt and had no regrets.

Once this was accomplished, Arthur acted quickly; getting the three men's heads taped into plastic bags in order to minimize the amount of blood in his carpet and then hiding the gun and wrist holster just in case someone narrowed the sounds of shots down to his apartment and called the police.

"How do you feel about hardwood floors?" he asked Eames as he hauled out his cell phone and sent a quick text. He needed the bodies dealt with as soon as possible.

Eames looked a little stunned, but that was only to be expected. He was still standing where he had been when the thug holding him hostage had dropped, and he was staring at Arthur with a mixture of awe and shock. There was no panic or disgust... yet. Arthur was curious as to whether those would manifest once the shock wore off a little.

"That's kind of ingenious," Eames finally said, his voice a bit smaller and more hoarse than usual, and he was nodding at the bagged heads.

Arthur grimaced. "I really wish they hadn't broken in here," he said, scowling down at what he could see of Donovan through the blood-stained plastic. "It makes a mess and I really am going to have to replace the carpeting at my own expense. Not to mention the door they broke."

Then he raised his gaze back to Eames. "Seriously, are you all right? It looks as though they roughed you up a little."

Eames shrugged spastically. "Just a little," he rumbled. "I've had worse getting booted out of a club."

"And what about seeing me shoot three men?" Arthur pursued, glancing down as his phone gave a responding chirp. Slower than he would have liked, but someone should be here within fifteen minutes. "One of whom was holding a gun to your head."

Eames actually smiled a little at that, though there were some lines of stress around his eyes if Arthur wasn't imagining it. "Well, I didn't figure you had hidden guns in your flat because you were an avid collector," he said a bit flippantly. "I'll admit that it's the first time I've been held at gunpoint, but you took care of it handily, and he's dead now. He's dead and I'm not."

Arthur nodded. He could see that Eames wasn't quite as calm as he wanted to appear, but he could also tell that he wasn't lying, that he meant his words for the most part. He wasn't about to scream the place down or run to the police. Not that Arthur had expected either reaction from him, but people had surprised him before, in good and in bad ways.

"You should go shower and change," he told Eames. "I was careful, but it looks as though a little blood got in your hair. Take at least twenty minutes to half an hour. Don't come out if you hear voices; I don't want anyone knowing you live here, since your presence can obviously be used against me. Once that's done, if you're still feeling all right, come back out. The bodies should be gone by then."

Eames bit his lower lip, but did as directed. He made a wide pass around the three crumpled bodies, then paused next to Arthur.

"Look, I don't want you to take this the wrong way," he said, his head low, peering up at Arthur through his long lashes, "But what you just did... that was dead sexy."

Then he left Arthur blinking, uncertain of how to respond to that. It was disturbing, but it was somewhat comforting to know that he hadn't frightened Eames off....

Murdering three men in cold blood shouldn't be sexy, Arthur thought wryly, but he supposed he understood where Eames was coming from. The competence and the air of danger would likely be the greatest part of it, rather than the actual deaths.

At any rate, minutes after he heard the shower kick on, the men arrived to help him with body disposal. There were no sirens and no uniformed police arrived at his broken door, so Arthur would assume for the moment that he was in the clear where his neighbors were concerned. He knew that Mrs. Hudson took out her hearing aides when she was home alone for the evening, the single woman who lived in the apartment above his was still at work, and the apartment directly beneath his, the one Eames had been squatting in, was still empty. Anyone who lived further away, Arthur assumed, would have trouble telling exactly where the gunshots had come from.

The men who took the bodies away would also deal with Donovan's vehicle. Arthur thought somewhat bitterly as he handed over the cash that all in all this was costing him nearly the same amount Donovan had demanded he return, especially when he factored in the damage to the apartment. But in this case it was the principle of the thing. If word got out that all a person had to do was hold a gun to Eames' head and they'd get their money back from Arthur... well, he didn't like that thought one bit. That, more than the implicit threat he'd made where Eames was concerned, had been the reason Donovan had had to die.

Well, okay, maybe not _more_. If Eames had been killed or even hurt because of Arthur, because he'd chosen to work for the wrong bastard, he'd never had forgiven himself.

Arthur was obviously going to have to be more careful now that he had a teenager living with him, he thought, pouring peroxide onto the blood in the carpet and blotting it up as best he could. He'd get all of the carpeting torn out and he was going to cover the spots with a throw rug in the meantime, but there was no reason not to deal with the stains while they were still fresh.

Arthur wasn't used to being responsible for anyone other than himself. But he'd been the one to invite Eames to live here, and so it was up to him to make sure the boy was safe from the more hazardous repercussions of Arthur's job. It had been unusual that someone would dare to come after him in his own home, though, Arthur had to admit.

Stupid, goddamned Donovan.

Eames wandered out into the living room as Arthur was tossing the throw rug over the faint pink spots that remained. He was flushed and damp, and his eyes were glowing with a fierce brightness that Arthur recognized. He had to admit that there was a fair amount of adrenaline pumping through his system as well. His baser instincts urged that the two of them get to fucking in order to burn some of it off, but he quashed that reaction immediately. He knew better than that, and they would both regret it later if he were to give in. Besides, despite his bold declaration before headed to the bathroom, Eames probably didn't want Arthur the way that Arthur hungered for him.

"All right?" Arthur asked, quirking a brow at Eames.

Eames was staring at him, taking in his rolled up sleeves and disheveled hair with avid eyes. He flushed more brightly at Arthur's question, and Arthur wondered about that reaction.

"It's okay, you know," Eames said, giving him a crooked grin that almost looked real. "I've seen dead people before. Granted, not so close up. And not dead from a bullet to the head. And none of them had been killed while they were holding onto my collar, with a gun to _my_ head. But it's all right. I'm not _traumatized_ or anything."

Arthur had to chuckle a little at the sheer scorn in Eames' voice as he spoke this last sentence. He had to admit that he felt quite a bit of relief at hearing this, at recognizing the truth of the words.

"Are you up for food?" he asked, because it was dinner time, and neither of them had eaten, for obvious reasons.

"Hell, yeah," Eames exclaimed, with all the resilience of a teenage boy. "I'll whip us up something," he added before Arthur could suggest ordering a pizza or Thai delivery to spare him the effort.

"Good," Arthur replied, letting go the idea of take-out easily because he definitely preferred Eames' cooking. "You go and start dinner while I jury-rig something for the door." He suspected the whole frame was going to need replacing, but he didn't want to deal with that until the next day. Right now he wanted a good meal and a quiet evening with Eames.

Eames scooted into the kitchen and soon there were delicious scents coming out of it, reminding Arthur that he had skipped lunch and breakfast had been a long time ago. He did his best with the door, cursing Donovan under his breath the whole time, then when he had it as good as it was going to get, he repaired to the kitchen.

"Just ready," Eames informed him as he walked in. "Do you have some sort of, I don't know, sensor or something?"

Arthur laughed lightly, shaking his head. He felt in need of a shower himself, but first he needed food. "I'm human, not a robot, Eames," he replied, digging around in the back of the crisper for the last beer. He generally avoided drinking while on a job, and he preferred mixed drinks, but right now he just felt the need for one relaxing beer with his dinner.

"Looking more human all the time," Eames said in wonder, and there was something softer about his smile as he portioned out Arthur's plate and brought it over to him. He looked almost... _affectionate_. But that was just ridiculous, wasn't it?

"Thanks," was all Arthur said in reply, because he didn't have anything else to say. Eames was all pink from his shower and the heat of cooking, his hair was a mess, he was wearing worn sweats and had bare feet.... Arthur could have tumbled him in a heartbeat, could have had him on his back on the kitchen table, bare legs in the air, and he thought that Eames would let him. But he _wouldn't_. He might not have much left by way of morals, but he wasn't going to molest and coerce a minor living under his roof. Eames had already proved to him that he felt he didn't have a choice when it came to sex with Arthur, and so there was no way he would make any inappropriate advances. Because he couldn't be certain of the honesty of Eames' responses.

So instead they ate dinner, Arthur finished his beer, then the two of them went out into the living room and finished the paperwork Eames had been doing when Donovan had interrupted. Eames made a token protest that he could do it himself, but Arthur could tell he was relieved to have the help.

"Tell me again that you're okay," Arthur urged as they said their good-nights. He was going to shower and crash. He didn't know what Eames had planned, because he looked wide awake, but Arthur suspected jerking off might be involved, considering that he was a sixteen year old male.

"I'm fine," Eames assured him. "It was a bit of a shock, sure. First the bastards busting in, then the gun... but then you took care of it, and that's actually one of the least upsetting bits about the whole thing, to be honest." Eames stilled a moment, giving Arthur an oddly intent look. "I'm sorry, though."

"For what?" Arthur wanted to know. Because the fact of Eames apologizing for anything was frankly ridiculous.

"For being here," Eames said, then he shook his head and clarified. "I mean, for being someone that they could grab and hold a gun to. I know that this whole thing probably would've been easier for you if I hadn't been here."

Arthur frowned. He couldn't exactly argue that point, but he didn't like the way Eames had put it. As though he was some burden or something. "I invited you to live here," he said mildly. "If anything, the fact that you were in danger is on me, so I ought to be the one apologizing to you. Especially since I shot a man right past your ear."

Eames bit his lower lip again, then shrugged. "S'all right, you know. No worries."

Arthur didn't know whether he believed Eames or not, but he let it go. Mainly because he really wanted to get in the shower and get to bed. He was no stranger to killing but he disliked the necessity, he tried not to do it often, and he really didn't like doing it in his own home. Now that the adrenaline was fading he was growing increasingly sleepy and ready for bed.

While he was standing under the spray of wonderfully hot water, Arthur decided he really ought to tell Eames what he did for a living; it was only fair, after all, when it had been his job, or complications thereof, that had almost gotten Eames killed. Eames had asked before, and politely at that. Arthur had put him off at the time, but there was no longer any good reason not to tell him. Honestly, for the sake of his own safety, Eames ought to know.

It just figured, then, that the morning of the day after the "events", after Arthur had made this decision, he woke to find Eames was gone.

***

To say that Eames underestimated Arthur would have been completely incorrect. He had seen firsthand what the man was capable of, and he still had Arthur's threat hanging over his head.

He'd thought he was safe, though, because he hadn't taken anything from Arthur. Hadn't stolen anything, and had even left behind all of the fake papers Arthur had gotten for him though he really could have used them and Arthur couldn't possibly have had any use for them.

No, Eames hadn't underestimated Arthur.... But he might very well have overestimated himself and his abilities. And, even more importantly, it appeared that he had somehow underestimated how much Arthur would want to get him back.

"What the fuck?" he blurted, when he woke the morning of his second day after leaving Arthur's flat, in the tiny room above an abandoned bowling alley where he was hiding out, to find that Arthur was sitting crosslegged on the dirty floor beside his makeshift bed.

"Really, Eames?" Arthur said mildly, raising one brow, and Eames couldn't tell if it was because he had left, because of where he was now, or because he had thought Arthur wouldn't come after him or wouldn't be able to find him.

Which, for the record, Arthur shouldn't have been able to do. What kind of arcane powers and underworld connections did the man _have_ that he could run down a single homeless kid like this? And why would he want to?

"Hey," Eames protested, rubbing his eyes and feeling at a severe disadvantage as he sat here in his sleeping bag, his clothes nappy with sweat, his hair badly in need of a wash. "You said you'd only hunt me down if I took something from you!"

Arthur cocked his head to the side, and it was kind of infuriating how put together he looked, with his slicked back hair, his perfect suit, his incredibly handsome features. "You did, though," he said mildly. "You took my housemate. I'd like him back. There's an entire roast sitting in the fridge which _I_ certainly have no idea how to cook. Can't let it go to waste, can we?"

Eames scrunched up his face in a confused scowl. "You can't be serious."

"You know I'm always deadly serious, Eames," Arthur said in his serious tone of voice. Eames felt his cock jump a little, thinking about Arthur being serious, Arthur being deadly, Arthur with a gun in his hand or wet from the shower and wrapped in a towel.... He was glad that the folds of his sleeping bag covered the naughty evidence where they rested over his lap.

"Yeah, well," Eames said uselessly, shrugging and casting his gaze down to where he was clutching at the stained, tattered material of his sleeping bag. It was so many steps below his bed in Arthur's flat that it made his heart physically ache in his chest to think about it.

"Listen," Arthur urged, reaching over and tucking his finger under Eames' chin, only touching him as long as it took to get him to look up again, meet Arthur's eyes. "You weren't afraid," Arthur said without preamble. "Not at the time it was happening. Not when the man had his gun to your head. I could see that in your eyes, and you told me as much afterward. So why did you run?"

Eames fidgeted, he hesitated, he dragged his gaze away from Arthur's intent stare, but in the end he replied honestly, even though his finer instincts were screaming at him that this was a bad idea. That he was revealing weakness, because he cared about whether he was Arthur's weakness.

"Because I was a liability," he said gruffly. "To you. That bastard tried to use me against you, and it _worked_ , even if you took care of things almost immediately. I can't hang around if that's going to happen again."

"So I teach you how to defend yourself," Arthur said, and of all the answers Eames might have anticipated, that hadn't been one of them. He sounded so matter-of-fact about it. "You already know how to fight, obviously. I can get you more specific skills. And teach you how to handle and fire a gun."

Eames' head snapped up so hard he felt it in his neck. He knew his eyes were wide, but he couldn't help the raw shock that coursed through him. "Why the fuck would you do that?" he wanted to know.

Arthur frowned at him as though he was being deliberately obtuse. "Why wouldn't I?" he challenged. "You're of value to me. I don't intend to let you go and so it's only in my best interests to make sure that you can defend yourself."

Eames stared at Arthur, trying to work things out in his mind, but what he kept coming back to, the only thing that made any sense, was that Arthur _meant_ what he had said.

"Oh, sure," Eames finally said, and he knew his voice sounded a little muffled, but he forced the words out anyway. "You just want someone to do your damned paperwork for you."

"Don't forget the cooking," Arthur added lightly, and those infernal dimples came into play, testing Eames resolve beyond what he could stand. "You think I _like_ having take-out and instant ramen every night?"

This surprised a chuckled out of Eames, and before he could remind himself of all the reasons why it wasn't a good idea, he found himself agreeing. "All right, I'll come back with you. But only because I'm dying to use your shower."

"As long as we understand one another," Arthur said, rising smoothly to his feet and giving Eames a hand up. "Come on. Let's go home."

It wasn't until he was dumping his bags in his room for the second time, already anticipating hopping in the shower, that Eames realized Arthur had used the word "home" and that Eames hadn't given it a second thought.

He still wasn't quite sure what was going on or what Arthur wanted from him, but he could be fairly sure of one thing at least....

He _was_ at home here. And as strange as that fact was, he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Not accepting the invitation from Arthur in the first place, not coming back, and not making plans for the future that involved being here, cooking for Arthur, and doing all those things that Arthur had mentioned.

He found that this excited him more than anything else. To have a purpose in his life. He'd been lacking it all this time, and some part of him had always known that even when he'd just been busy _surviving_. Arthur had freed him up to not only realize and acknowledge that, but he'd also given him the means to _do_ something about it.

Once Eames was done bathing he put on clean clothes and wandered into the kitchen. It was only lunch time, but he had to get started on the roast now if that was what Arthur wanted for dinner. And if that was what Arthur wanted for dinner, that was what Arthur was getting for dinner.

Arthur was making them sandwiches, standing at the counter in his button-up shirt and tightly fitted trousers, and Eames couldn't help drooling a little as he stared at the man's incredible arse,

"That's a little counterproductive," he managed to say, and he dragged his gaze off of Arthur's rear in time to see Arthur's gaze flicker over him in turn. He didn't think he mistook the flare of heat that darkened those chocolate brown eyes, and hope sparked in his heart even as Arthur smiled at him, dimples flashing.

"We need to talk, so I thought I'd get the food prep out of the way while you showered," he said, carrying the plates over to the table.

Eames pulled a face, but joined him. "I thought we were through talking," he complained, grabbing his sandwich and taking a huge bite. Arthur might eschew the kitchen for the most part, but this he could do, and he did it well. Besides, Eames hadn't had a proper meal since the night before last.

Arthur got them both some soda -- not diet, since Eames had put his foot down about that early on -- then attacked his sandwich with a gusto that very nearly matched Eames'.

"Not quite," he said, once he'd chewed and swallowed, because Arthur didn't talk with his mouth full. "You might not remember, but there was something I wanted to discuss with you the day Donovan broke in here. We got a little distracted, but I'd still like to get back to the subject."

Eames scowled, because he had indeed forgotten. "Kind of a dick move," he said mildly, inhaling more of his sandwich. "Dropping that on me and then leaving for the day."

"I told you it wasn't anything bad," Arthur said in exasperation. "I just wanted to ask you if you might like to take an online course in order to get your diploma."

Eames blinked at Arthur, because that was so far from _anything_ he might have thought Arthur would want to talk about that his brain was having trouble processing it.

"I've gotten you the papers you need to look legal in the States," Arthur added. "But I think you ought to earn your diploma yourself. You'll have more employment prospects if you have it. I wouldn't ask you to go to a real high school, and I think you're smart enough to do most of your learning on your own, but it might be best if you graduate from an actual school, even if it's only on the internet. And a diploma is better than a GED."

Eames didn't reply, because he was still having trouble processing this.

"And while I've got your attention," Arthur said dryly, with an amused quirk to his lips, "I'd very much like to expand your wardrobe. Your clothes are all so threadbare that I can practically see through them. If you feel strongly about it we can arrange for you to do extra work for me, I suppose, but I'd rather we just call it recompense for your being held hostage and for me shooting a man right beside you."

"I--" Eames attempted, but he really was a bit at a loss. "That was...."

"We can talk this through later, if you like," Arthur said diffidently, as though what he was offering wasn't above and beyond to a ridiculous degree. "Like I said, I see some amazing potential in you, and I want to help you develop it. If it makes you feel better about that, you can assume that I intend to make use of anything you learn and any talents you gain in the future."

"So..." Eames said slowly, his mind working quickly. "Basically, I'd be your kept boy... only without the sex."

He didn't think he imagined the flicker of arousal that chased across Arthur's face and he filed that look away carefully, along with the one Arthur had given him when he'd first entered the kitchen. Maybe they'd both misunderstood, that night Arthur had rejected Eames. Maybe Eames was going to need to do something about this.

"And while we're eating dinner, I'll tell you about my job," Arthur added. As though he hadn't already effectively overwhelmed Eames. As though he needed to sweeten the pot.

"Okay," Eames said, stuffing his sandwich in his mouth again. He even let Arthur change the subject without protest.

"To everything?" Arthur prompted, with his annoying innate need for specificity. "Or just that last?"

Eames chewed thoughtfully. "Mostly the last," he said through his mouthful, then he swallowed and took a chug of soda, watching the way Arthur watched him. Yeah, he could definitely work with that. "But we can figure out the rest as we go along, right?"

Arthur fixed him with a long, intent look, and then he smiled. "Well," he said. "All right then."


	2. Part Two: Sometimes the Best Way to Enter is Through the Backdoor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Phst," Eames scoffed, giving him a crooked grin that Arthur instinctively knew preceded trouble. "This is nothing. Got my tits pierced too!"

Eames seemed to have had no problem moving back into Arthur's apartment, and for this Arthur was extremely grateful.

For one thing, he had missed the delicious meals that Eames cooked for them both. He hadn't realized until the day and a half he'd spent without Eames how much he'd come to anticipate and enjoy those meals, even if he'd had to occasionally miss one due to work. But even then Eames made sure to save him the leftovers.

For another... well, he hated to admit it, but he'd really gotten used to sharing his living space with someone, having someone to talk to. Granted, he and Eames often went long periods of time without communicating verbally. But if either one of them wanted to say anything, they said it and the other listened. And not just "someone" to talk to, but someone that Arthur _wanted_ to talk to, who he enjoyed listening to.

That was something valuable that Arthur had never realized before that he had been missing. Now that he had it, he didn't want to give it up.

And it wasn't just the food or the companionship. It was _Eames_. Arthur liked him. Arthur was as surprised by this realization as Eames might have been to hear it, but that fact didn't make it not true. The boy was smart and capable and generally good natured. He got his back up over certain things, and he wasn't always as mature as he obviously liked to think he was, but he had far more good points than bad, he learned quickly, he was interesting, and he just... well, Arthur just _liked_ him. Sometimes there didn't have to be a tangible, solid reason for the emotions one felt toward another person. Arthur had a near constant need for specificity, but that applied more to work than to his personal life.

He didn't need to know _why_ he liked Eames; he just _did_.

Eames ended up agreeing with Arthur about getting his diploma, and Arthur got him set up with an online correspondence course within the hour. It took a little more convincing, to get Eames out clothes shopping, and in the end Arthur had to promise to take the cost out of the cash Eames earned in installments until it was all paid back, but they finally went out and made a good effort at filling up Eames dresser drawers and closet.

Arthur allowed Eames to pick out what he wanted, which was only fair since Eames was insistent upon repaying him. Something that Arthur wasn't happy about, but then he took a moment to think about how he would feel if their roles were reversed, and he supposed he could understand where Eames was coming from. For his part Eames just seemed relieved that Arthur wasn't going to pick out clothing like his own. As though the look Arthur tended to sport would at all suit Eames. Well, maybe in a few years....

Arthur had been half afraid that Eames might dress himself like a thug when given free rein to pick and choose, but he didn't. Most of the clothing he chose was completely normal for a sixteen year old male, and it all looked _good_ ; in fact, most of it was a little too flattering for Arthur's peace of mind.

This was something Arthur discovered to his distress and near absolute mortification the evening of the day they'd gone clothing shopping, when Eames wandered into the kitchen dressed for bed.

Up to this point, Eames had worn a pair of hole-riddled sweatpants and a long-sleeved teeshirt to sleep in. It was the middle of October, after all, and even though he didn't keep his apartment _cold_ , Arthur didn't see any reason to keep it balmy. As well, Eames seemed to feel the chill more than Arthur; he certainly remarked upon it more often.

Tonight, Eames was wearing a brand new pair of plain cotton pajama bottoms and a white tank. This was certainly acceptable nightwear, and Arthur had no cause for complaint. He couldn't help noting, though, that it was nearly obscene how closely the soft, pale blue material clung to Eames' ass and thighs, showcasing his lean young body and making it very obvious that he didn't have on anything underneath. And as for the shirt....

Arthur stared at the tattoos etched dark in the smooth skin of Eames' upper arms and chest. He hadn't realized until now that he'd never seen Eames in anything that didn't have sleeves going down to at least to his elbows. He hadn't known about the tattoos....

"Aren't... aren't you a little young to have that much ink?" he managed to ask, trying as hard as he could to keep his voice even. He didn't dare to sound disapproving, which he really wasn't, or aroused, which he damned well _was_.

"Phst," Eames scoffed, giving him a crooked grin that Arthur instinctively knew preceded trouble. "This is nothing. Got my tits pierced too!"

And before Arthur could stop him -- not that he would have even if he _could_ have -- Eames skinned the tank top off over his head and was thrusting his chest forward to display the fact that, yes, he did indeed have gleaming silver rings in both nipples.

Arthur came dangerously close to swallowing his own tongue, and he knew his face turned a tell-tale shade of brick red, but he only had so much control over his physical reactions. As his dick was letting him know on no uncertain terms. "How young were you when--" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "You know what? Never mind!"

And he made as quick an exit from the kitchen as he could, despite the fact that Eames was standing between him and the door. He really hoped that Eames hadn't noticed his burgeoning hard-on as he'd brushed past the boy, but from the wide smirk on the kid's face, this was a faint hope. Or maybe he was simply smug over having gotten such a violent reaction from Arthur. They did both tend to enjoy pressing one another's buttons a little too much.

Arthur retreated to his office, forcing himself to keep his hands off himself. He did paperwork until he felt he had his errant dick back under control, and the next time he emerged, Eames was lounging on the sofa with an oversized top covering up the tank, his feet bare, his hair tangled, and his plump red lips pursed as he read "Wuthering Heights".

This sight brought up its own set of problems for Arthur, no matter how hard he tried not to find it sexy. Besides which, he now _knew_ what lurked underneath said oversized top. His traitorous mind wouldn't allow him to forget the severe etchings of dark ink and the silver rings piercing those perk pink nipples. Not to mention the sandy curls of hair dusting the dip between Eames' pectorals, hints of the man he was on his way to becoming....

And that last thought did absolutely nothing to quell his desire, even though Arthur was constantly reminding himself of how young Eames really was.

It might have helped if Eames hadn't been so damned attractive. But that was a part of his charm, and Arthur couldn't bring himself to regret any of it. And he definitely didn't regret Eames' presence in his home.

Honestly, though, it was Eames' home now too. And Arthur had no problems with this fact.

***

For such a boring existence, Eames found that his new life was remarkably interesting.

Well, the homework part was deadly dull, he had to admit. Eames was doing his best to blaze through the online course as quickly as possible. Arthur seemed impressed by this, but Eames just wanted to get it _done_ and over with.

The cooking was more interesting now that he had gotten himself a few cookbooks and had Arthur's permission to try new things. These new dishes turned out successfully more often than not, and that pleased Eames, but he'd have to be pretty pathetic to find cooking to be a large amount of fun. His other daily activities, though, while they might have seemed boring from the outside, he found to be quite stimulating.

For one thing, Arthur came through with his promise to train Eames in both firearms and hand-to-hand combat.

Eames didn't really like handling guns, but he _did_ like knowing that he'd be able to defend himself if something like the "great upheaval" happened again. Arthur had told him in that quiet, no-nonsense way of his that Eames had handled it very well, but Eames hadn't liked feeling as though he was the damsel in distress. He wanted to be able to take care of himself. For his part, Arthur seemed relieved that Eames didn't have some sick fascination with handling a gun, and they were both pleasantly surprised to find that Eames was a naturally good shot.

"Is there anything you're not good at?" Arthur asked, and he hadn't sounded condescending at all, which caused Eames to blush a brilliant crimson, much to his further embarrassment.

"Lots," he gruffed, because he wasn't going to give Arthur specifics. Doing so would be revealing weaknesses, and while he trusted Arthur for the most part, Eames knew better than to deliberately expose weaknesses to _anyone_.

The latter being a lesson that Arthur took it upon himself to teach Eames once they started sparring together.

Eames already knew how to fight, more or less, but Arthur taught him how to fall, how to throw a proper punch, how to take a punch, and most of all, Arthur taught Eames how to fight _dirty_. Which was a grand thing, something that Eames thoroughly enjoyed... right up to the point that Arthur punched Eames in the chest while they were sparring.

Eames responded instinctively by popping Arthur in the nose, but the blow lacked force and the next thing he knew he was on his knees on the mat, clutching his poor abused nipple, eyes hot and wet with tears of pain. Arthur looked pleased, and his nose wasn't even bruised or bleeding, the bastard, but Eames comforted himself with the thought that this expression was because Arthur was proud of Eames for hitting back before he buckled, rather than just being smug that he'd taken Eames down so easily. It seemed probable; Arthur was a bit strange like that.

"Should've never told you about my piercings," Eames gritted out, glaring up at Arthur. It hadn't really been a hard blow, he thought in retrospect, but it had landed in a very tender place.

"Always go for any weakness you know about," Arthur responded, smiling down at Eames. The rare sight of dimples made Eames feel a little better, but his tit still really, really _hurt_ and he wasn't so sure he was ready to forgive Arthur, adorable dimples or not. And especially not when Arthur then asked, "Do you have any other piercings?"

"Wouldn't tell you if I did!" Eames snapped. He didn't, but Arthur didn't need to know that. Anyway, if Arthur wanted to go for a nut-punch it wouldn't matter if Eames had any piercings below the waist; it would have put him down regardless.

Arthur grinned at him a little apologetically -- or so Eames chose to read it -- and gave him a hand up. "Let's cut this round short," he suggested. "We'll head home and I'll order us a pizza or some Thai, your choice."

And so Eames was somewhat mollified, only not really because Arthur had _punched him in the tit_ , and it _hurt_. Every time he thought about forgiving Arthur that evening, his nipple would give a dull throb, and he'd be upset all over again.

On the other hand, the membership to the gym that Arthur got him was a pure blessing, and Eames quickly began using it to try and put on some muscle. To his credit, Arthur never did punch Eames in the chest again while they sparred -- at least not on purpose -- so Eames decided to take the higher road and take Arthur's words to heart.

Not that he hadn't already been prone to exploit any weakness. But now he sort of had Arthur's tacit permission to use that method, and he'd decided that enough was enough. He was going to apply this good advice where it would most help him, and use it to _get into Arthur's exquisitely fitted trousers_.

It was a sound plan. Something he had no qualms about putting into play. He could make sure they both got what they wanted, and they could stop this ridiculous dancing around one another. It was a good plan.

The part that he got stuck on, though?

He had to figure out what Arthur's weaknesses were first.

***

Sometimes Arthur couldn't help but think about what it would be like. Pressing Eames up against the kitchen counter, claiming those lush lips in a devouring kiss, rolling his silver-pierced nipples between his finger and thumb, grinding their hard erections together....

Only, what made him think that Eames would get hard in return?

There was _nothing_ to make him think so. Eames had only offered to blow him out of a sense of obligation, and Arthur had no right to even think about what that blowjob would have been like, much less to assume that Eames might have enjoyed it.

He couldn't help imagining it though... imagining that and so much more.... If his fantasies were to come to light, they'd certainly be grounds for arrest. Fortunately, as fantasies they were completely private.

Sometimes Arthur thought about taking it a step further; thought about going into the dream-share and calling up a projection of Eames and boning him until that particular itch was gone....

But Arthur was too smart to fall into that trap. He knew that this would have been a completely useless pursuit. For one thing, no matter how good he was at lucid dreaming Arthur knew that there was no way he'd be able to properly capture Eames. Not when every day he noticed some new spark or tic, something fresh to be fascinated by. And for another thing, it was highly unlikely to be either satisfying _or_ to lead to a cessation of desire. Not when he had the real Eames living with him, parading around his apartment, sharing household duties and being routinely amazing.

Arthur was sparing with his praise, it was true, but not for lack of admiration. Half the time when he said something nice about Eames' performance -- in cooking, fighting, shooting, handling paperwork, or something else -- Eames scoffed and blew him off as not being serious. Arthur recognized this as being a defense mechanism, learned while Eames had still been living with his parents, but it annoyed him and made him less inclined to give voice to any sincerely meant compliments. He was almost convinced, though, that the other half of the time was worse, because that was when Eames flushed a pretty pink, hid his gaze behind long lashes, and stammered out a mingled thanks and disclaimer as though fielding the compliment had physically discomfitted him.

In those moments he looked unbearably beautiful and so torturously _young_ that it made Arthur feel even more like a fool and a pervert for being so affected.

It didn't really help that Eames had taken to walking around the apartment in those damned pajama bottoms, lounging on the sofa in a sweater and jeans with bare feet, or cooking in a tank and sweat pants while wearing a silly yellow apron that had just appeared one day. It was almost as though he knew how much Arthur wanted to drag him into his bedroom to teach him _everything_ and had set out to deliberately torment him.

It was his own fault, Arthur supposed, for finding Eames so sexy. Hell, he had been the one to ask the boy to move in with him, and he'd known he was physically attracted to him at the time. Arthur probably should have anticipated something like this happening. He was just lucky it was a short trip from Eames' room to the bathroom, or he'd have been treated to more than a few seconds of Eames traipsing down the hall, wet, steamy, and pink, a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist and everything else on full display.

It was moments like that when delving into the dream-share seemed a little _too_ tempting. But Arthur knew better. Hell, if nothing else, he had Cobb as an example. And a bad example was even better to learn from than a good example.

Eames tested Arthur's self control, even if he did so unawares, when he did things like flex his arms for Arthur, demanding that Arthur check for development of muscle, as though it was something that happened in under a week. And there was the inescapable knowledge that Eames had two perky pink silver-pierced nipples beneath his soft sweaters and baggy teeshirts. Hell, when he wore a tank, Arthur could _see_ them through the thin material, now that he knew what he was looking for.

Some days he really wished he hadn't suggested Eames live with him....

But then he thought about waking up and not having crisp bacon to eat, not having someone to plan the day with, and he thought about Eames out there, doing God knew what in order to scrape by, his potential largely squandered. And Arthur knew he didn't actually regret having issued the invitation.

He'd never have thought the day would come that he'd be upset over finding the person he was living with to be _too_ sexy. But then, he'd never have thought that he'd find himself cohabitating with a smart, snarky, handsome sixteen year old who was a thief and a runaway, and so very, very illegal.

Arthur could admit it to himself, he had checked. And they were _not_ living in a state where the age of consent was sixteen. Not that he intended to go down that road even if it wasn't against the law -- because since when did breaking the law stop him from doing something he wanted to do? -- but he hadn't been able to stop himself from looking into.

Really, for someone of such questionable morals, Arthur was being quite a stickler about this. But he absolutely would _not_ take advantage of Eames. He gave him monetary payments in return for the work Eames did for him, and he figured that the effort Eames put into cooking more than balanced out the gym fees and the cost of the online correspondence course. But he certainly couldn't pay or barter for Eames' sexual favors. Not only was the idea utterly reprehensible, but that wasn't what Arthur wanted.

If he was honest with himself, he wanted Eames to want him. But when the boy felt so beholden to him, so indebted, how could Arthur trust to Eames' free will?

He couldn't. And, unfortunately, that was that.

***

Flaunting himself was a dead end, Eames thought with a certain amount of justifiable pique. Flirting seemed to go right over Arthur's head, the darling idiot. Well, not that Eames was particularly adept at flirting with men almost twice his age -- which, okay, was a slight exaggeration -- but he had to figure it wasn't that different from talking up a bloke more his own age, right?

Maybe it was. He was really kind of making this up as he went along, and he didn't seem to be doing a very good job. Not if his lack of results was any indication.

He might have gotten discouraged, might have thought that Arthur truly wasn't interested, if he wasn't constantly catching the flare of heat in the man's eyes when he thought Eames wouldn't notice, or while he was turning away, averting his gaze from Eames stretching or bending, or just lounging on the sofa.

Arthur stared at him an awful lot more than anyone who wasn't pleased by what he saw would have done, Eames thought with a certain amount of satisfaction.

That Arthur was interested in him, Eames was certain. How _much_ so... well, that he couldn't be sure of. But he knew that the answer was "more than not at all", and he was hoping it was enough to get him laid before he went completely mad.

Eames _liked_ sex. He missed having it. And he hadn't had sex since he'd moved in with Arthur.

Well, okay, if one were speaking _technically_ about what most people recognized as "sex", with penetration and all, then Eames had never actually had sex. But there were other definitions and Eames missed getting off in company. Not to mention he wanted that company to be Arthur, and to be honest, he wanted penetration and all of that as well. With Arthur.

This wasn't to say that he mightn't have sex with someone else if given the opportunity.... But right now there wasn't anyone else in his life that he _wanted_ to have sex with. There was only Arthur, and this was both frightening and irritating at the same time that it was exciting and titillating.

It would have helped if Eames could have convinced Arthur to act on his desire, of course. He could be patient when he knew that he would get something out of it, but being patient now was proving to be more than he could really handle.

He just didn't want to fuck it up. He wanted _fucking_... but he could _not_ fuck this up. What if he said or did something that really pissed Arthur off? He was only living here -- working and exercising and getting in his schooling -- due to Arthur's generosity. At any point Arthur could take it all away, kick Eames out. And he'd be right to do so. This was _his_ home, and Eames had no place here that Arthur hadn't given to him. Even though Eames did all he could, the balance of domestic contribution was completely uneven.

It wasn't so much that Eames wanted to earn his way, as it was that he didn't want to end up owning anyone. It wasn't Arthur, either. He didn't like owing anybody. In fact, he felt better about owing Arthur than anyone else, because he was relatively certain that Arthur would give him the chance to pay him back honestly, something not everyone would do.

Eames was aware of the fact that he still owed Arthur for some, maybe most of his daily luxuries. He did the cooking, but that didn't make up for all the food he ate. And there was also the gym membership and the gun Arthur had given him, and the online course. Arthur never remarked on any of that, but Eames knew that none of it was free.

Still, if Arthur would just accept what Eames was obliquely offering... well, Eames wasn't going to barter sex, of course. He wanted to sleep with Arthur because Arthur was hot, and because he thought that Arthur thought he was hot. But it might have... covered his interest until he could pay Arthur back, yeah? Or something like that.

Well, Eames felt that it made sense in his head, even though he couldn't have articulated it if he'd tried. He didn't intend to try. Better Arthur not know his motivation, since he'd already made it perfectly clear that he didn't want Eames paying his way by blowing him.

Which Eames could totally understand. It was crazy that Arthur had offered him a place to live, and even crazier that he _didn't_ want Eames to pay his way on his knees... but once he'd realized and come to believe that Arthur honestly didn't want sex in return for his generosity, Eames had found himself respecting the man all the more. And he'd _already_ had a healthy amount of respect for Arthur.

Arthur might not be exactly what Eames wanted to be when he grew up... but he wasn't very far off. And he was simply amazing. Eames might not say so to the man for fear of sounding stupid, but he definitely felt that way. Had done even before Arthur had shot a man in the head for him, and even more so afterward.

If only he could figure out some way to get into Arthur's bed... without having to physically climb into Arthur's bed. Because he'd seen how well that had worked when he'd tried unzipping Arthur's trousers early on. Evidently the direct approach wasn't going to work. On the other hand, getting Arthur to take the hint and tumble Eames wasn't going so well, either.

It was all the more infuriating because Eames knew from interest, and he knew he read interest in Arthur's heavy gaze when he wandered out of the bathroom in a towel, or stripped off his sweater and walked around in a tank and fitted jeans. It was _right there_ and yet Eames wasn't allowed to tap into it. For whatever reason.

He figured Arthur thought he was being noble. Maybe Arthur thought Eames was too young to know what he wanted. But Eames wasn't sure how to be more obvious, without coming off looking like a fool.

They both wanted to have sex with one another; why did Arthur have to make it all so difficult?!

***

Things were going well. Eames was improving himself at an incredible rate, physically and through his correspondence course. Not that he hadn't already been intelligent, but there was street smart and there was educated. Now he was beginning to combine both in a very satisfying manner.

Arthur was keeping them both busy, completely aside from Eames' schooling and training. He hadn't been traveling as much as he tended to do lately, but it hadn't seemed to matter; he was good enough that the work came to him. He'd worked hard to reach this point, and since he had Eames to come home to, he didn't feel the need to get out there and see new places, the way he'd been doing before Eames had moved in.

Somehow, nearly six months passed in this manner. Arthur should have known that this comfortable existence couldn't last. But he might have expected the disruption to come from Eames, or maybe from someone like Donovan, out to take a price out of his hide. He hadn't expected his _friends_ to get involved....

Maybe he should have done, but he hadn't heard from Cobb in nearly a year, and he hadn't seen Ariadne for longer than that. This probably should have tipped him off that he was overdue. On the other hand, he hadn't thought that the two of them were so nosy, or such _gossips_.

It might have been nice if someone had called and given him a heads up, he thought afterward. On the other hand, what could he have done; kicked Eames out? That wasn't going to happen, no matter what.

Still, there wouldn't have been anything wrong with a little warning....

***

Like the day of the "great upheaval", the morning of the "great incursion" began like any other morning. Eames had dressed a little more carefully than he did some days because Arthur wasn't going to be going out to work, making sure that he was wearing a white teeshirt that was tight enough to show off his pierced nipples. He was pretty sure that his pectorals looked better than they had a few months ago, and he was hoping that Arthur would notice this.

His feet were bare and his jeans hugged his thighs and arse, because he'd been paying attention, and he'd made note of what Arthur liked best. His current ensemble seemed to do the trick, even though it hadn't yet gotten Arthur to tumble him.

Of course, Eames had also gone out of his way to make it look as though he hadn't put _any_ thought into his ensemble. His hair was artfully mussed, and he made sure to wear an apron when he cooked breakfast. Spattering bacon grease would have forced him to change, and that would have been a waste after all the effort he had gone to.

Arthur still didn't tumble him, but Eames caught him staring more than a few times, so he had hopes that he was making progress. He had to figure that if he kept at this long enough, Arthur would eventually be overwhelmed, like water washing away the surface of a stone.... Of course, Eames resolutely ignored the amount of time that said process generally took. It wasn't a perfect analogy, after all.

Arthur complimented him on breakfast, which he didn't always do -- after months of living together that would have been a little weird -- and thanked him for cooking, which he generally _did_ do at every meal unless he was in a hurry or irritated about something. Eames had given up trying to get Arthur to stop, and he accepted the praise with a little blush and a gruff grumble. He didn't _mean_ to be ungracious, it was just that it was kind of embarrassing. Arthur had paid for the food; all Eames had done was prepare it. And Arthur was completely supporting Eames, so a little cooking was the _least_ he could do.

Arthur smirked at him like he always did, and it made Eames' heart thump extra hard when he caught the flash of dimples, like it always did, and he wondered why he wasn't just throwing himself at Arthur already, potential for disaster be damned.

But common sense won out, and they finished eating, cleaned up, and repaired to separate parts of the flat. Arthur went into his office, and Eames sat on the sofa with Arthur's laptop, which he had permission to use for anything he wanted _after_ he had finished his homework and any busywork Arthur had given him to do. Just so long as he didn't open any folders or do any snooping.

Not that he'd have been inclined to do so. If there was one thing working with Arthur had taught him, it was that Arthur's job was incredibly dull when no one was shooting at him. Respecting Arthur's privacy was easy enough under these circumstances, though Eames would have done as the man asked regardless, simply because he had asked.

So when a knock came at the door before a couple of hours had passed, Eames was in a prime position to answer it... only he wasn't sure he should. They hadn't really covered this eventuality, and aside from the time Donovan had busted into the flat with his goons and their guns, Arthur hadn't had any visitors in the whole time Eames had been here.

"I'll get it," Arthur called. He hadn't closed the office door all the way behind him, and Eames already knew that he had ears like a... bat, or fox, or... something that heard really well.

Eames closed the laptop and looked up as Arthur entered the living area. "Should I vacate?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"Hang on a second," Arthur instructed, walking silently over the peephole that was set to the far right side of the door, instead of the false one in the center. He'd shown this trick to Eames early on, even though he'd not yet had opportunity to use it. Eames thought that this was remarkably ingenious rather than paranoid, which seemed to have surprised Arthur a bit. But Eames had found it hard to shake the mental image of himself or Arthur being shot in the eye if they used the regular peephole, and avoiding that was just plain brilliant, even if it probably never would have happened.

"Shit," Arthur hissed, once he'd gotten a good look. Eames tensed, ready to head for his room or the office, or maybe even his firearm or the window if it was dangerous enough, but Arthur turned and shook his head. "Might as well stay here. She'll know something's going on no matter what, so it's better to be up front about it."

Eames' frown deepened when he heard "she", but Arthur was already moving to open the door. Not that he had any right, Eames reminded himself, to question or to protest. Especially not without any idea who "she" was.

Arthur's visitor turned out to be a tiny little slip of a thing who looked like she was Eames' age, even though she was probably closer to Arthur's age. She was dressed like someone who knew herself, in reds and browns, with an expensive silk scarf around her neck. She was very pretty and had on warm lipstick that made her mouth look even fuller.

"Arthur!" she cried cheerfully, practically jumping into his arms, forcing him to catch her. With her dark hair and eyes, her pale skin tones and her pleasant, regular features, Eames almost thought that she must be Arthur's younger sister.

A comforting idea that was promptly torpedoed when she lunged up to give Arthur a quick but vigorous kiss on the mouth, causing Eames' blood pressure to skyrocket.

"Excuse you!" Arthur said, a little indignantly as she thumped back down on her own two feet, though his hands didn't leave her slim waist, and he still looked more pleased than otherwise to see her. Whomever "she" was.

"What, you think you're the only one who can steal a kiss?" she asked archly.

Eames still didn't know who "she" was, but he was pretty sure in this moment that he hated her.

***

Every time Arthur thought he was resigned to Ariadne's lack of tact she went and stretched his tolerance to greater lengths. Still, he was glad that she seemed happy to see him, and wasn't biting his head off for how long it had been since they'd last talked, much less how long it had been since he'd last visited her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked before he could remind himself that this probably wasn't a good idea. Not taking his last thought into consideration. Though it did go both ways, and she hadn't done any more than he had to stay in touch.

"Cobb sent me to check up on you," she said easily, with a wide grin, and Arthur wasn't sure who he wanted to punch more; Ariadne or his supposed friend, one Dominic Cobb. Well, neither of them, really, because he didn't hit girls unless they were trying to kill or maim him, and Cobb wasn't here to be punched. But Arthur was definitely more than a little irked.

"And why would he do that?" he asked, knowing that Eames was listening behind him, knowing that common manners dictated he introduce Ariadne and Eames, but he wanted to get this out of the way first, because he had a strong suspicion that once Ariadne knew that Arthur had a teenage boy living with him, that would derail all other topics of conversation.

Ariadne rolled her eyes, about as impressed with Cobb as Arthur was. "He's concerned because you haven't left town in months," she explained, and by now she had definitely seen Eames, her gaze fixing on him, bright and gleaming with poorly contained curiosity, but she did Arthur the courtesy of replying to his question. "I told him he was being ridiculous, but I happened to be in the area and I thought it would be a good time to drop by."

"Last minute decision, huh?" Arthur sighed, because that explained it, and he hadn't thought Ariadne would generally be rude enough to show up without calling or texting first. "Not that it's any of Cobb's business where I am, but how does he know I haven't been traveling?"

"Not a clue if you didn't tell him," Ariadne said blithely, giving a little shrug. "He's probably still tapped into the dream-share gossip network even though he swears up and down that he's retired."

Arthur scowled, because he didn't like the idea of there _being_ gossip about him in the dream-share community. He also didn't like the thought that his personal habits were so well known. He might need to make a drastic change, some time very soon.

"Doesn't matter," Ariadne said, waving an airy hand, as though it was no big thing, and he supposed that to her it wasn't. "Aren't you going to introduce me, Arthur? Or at least let me in...."

"You're in," he protested, knowing the words were lame as he said them. "The door is closed behind you."

He got a snort in stereo at that, when both Ariadne and Eames responded to his effort. Oh, _that_ would be just great, if they ganged up on him, he thought with something close to despair. That was, if Ariadne didn't brand him a pervert and leave in disgust over something that he hadn't even _done_.... Not that he could claim complete innocence, considering that doing it -- _doing Eames_ \-- was on his mind more often than it was not, on a daily basis.

"Eames, this is Ariadne. Ariadne, this is Eames," he said, turning and guiding Ariadne into the living area with a hand to her upper back. Not that she needed any guidance or encouragement.

"Hi, Eames," she said, stepping boldly forward, hand extended, and her smile was open and honest. If she suspected Arthur of anything nefarious, it didn't show in her face. "Arthur hasn't told me anything about you, but considering that I haven't heard from him in almost a year, that's hardly surprising."

"It hasn't been that long," Arthur protested, though he had a feeling that if he did the math, Ariadne wouldn't be far off the mark.

Eames' brows rose, and he had a polite expression plastered on his face that Arthur could read as being completely faked. He had seemed to be upset about something, the skin around his eyes pinched, his lips thin -- or as thin as they could get, which wasn't very -- but his face had relaxed a little when Ariadne said "almost a year". Arthur resolutely ignored any possible reason for this reaction, because it wasn't his place to assign emotion to Eames that might not be accurate. Anyway, Eames' eyes were grey, not green.

"Pleased to meet you," Eames said easily enough, and his smile almost looked honest. It was Ariadne's turn to lift her brows when she made note of the accent, and she shot Arthur a questioning glance.

"Eames is staying here for a while," Arthur explained, with no intention of giving details. It wasn't any of Ariadne's business anyway, and if she was going to think the worst then she was going to disapprove no matter what he said, and if she gave him the benefit of the doubt then she'd have to do so on trust.

"Arthur is doing my Mum a solid," Eames put in smoothly. The words flowed easily from his mouth, but Arthur made a note to tell Eames later that he needed to rein in his tell, when the boy reached up to rub at his nose and upper lip. Fortunately for them both Ariadne didn't know Eames well enough to realize what this simple gesture signaled, so she took his words at face value. Or at least Arthur thought she did, from what he could read of her expression as she nodded.

"Keeping me out of trouble while I'm in the States," Eames continued blithely, and Arthur didn't think he'd ever seen the boy look so innocent. Well, if one analyzed what Eames was saying, nothing was actually an out-and-out lie. He was only _implying_ that Arthur and his mother knew one another, and that she was aware of and okay with her son being here. And it was certainly true that Arthur was keeping Eames out of trouble. In many more ways than one.

"That's nice of him," Ariadne said, sinking down on the sofa and patting the cushion beside her, though it was unclear whether she was inviting Arthur or Eames to join her. "Now, sit and tell me what you guys have been up to. And don't worry, Arthur, I won't tell Cobb anything you don't want me to."

Arthur grimaced. "I hate to think what you might imagine we've been doing," he said mildly, sitting beside her.

"I can assure you, it's all been quite boring," Eames said, with the fervency of someone speaking the unvarnished truth, as he sank into the recliner, curling his bare feet underneath himself. Arthur was torn between admiring the picture Eames made, being concerned that Eames thought living here was dull, and seriously wondering just _what_ Ariadne might have thought they'd been getting up to. "Day after day of schoolwork and paperwork...."

"Really?" Ariadne smirked as she glanced at Arthur. "He lets you help him with his paperwork? I'm impressed!"

"Shut up," Arthur told her mildly. Not that he minded Eames knowing how special he was. But he didn't want Ariadne reading more into the situation than there was. Especially when Eames was sitting there looking like sleepy sex, with his artfully rumpled hair and the nipple piercings plain to see through the thin material of his teeshirt if anyone really _looked_ , not to mention the tattoos curling from under its short sleeves....

Even taking all that into consideration, though, it was still far too obvious that Eames was only a teenager. Well under the age of consent, even if one thought that he perhaps looked younger than he was, the way that Ariadne did. Not that anyone would be likely to make that assumption. With his broadening shoulders and developing muscles it was perfectly clear that if Eames had _been_ a man already, he'd have _looked_ like a man already. No, he looked like exactly what he was; a beautiful teenage boy who was on his way to adulthood, but still several years shy of it.

And that made Arthur a pervert for noticing how sexy he looked, and he only hoped that Ariadne hadn't noticed him noticing.

She _was_ giving Arthur a strange look, but it might be more related to the fact that he purportedly allowed Eames to help him with his work than anything else. Anything more potentially illegal.

"He does good work," Arthur defended. "You know I don't let just anyone help me."

"No shit," Ariadne replied eloquently. "I practically had to twist your arm last time we worked together, to get you to give me some of your papers. Even when you were running yourself into the ground trying to do it all, and even though you knew good and goddamned well that I'm capable. That's why I'm so surprised. And honestly impressed."

She smiled at Eames warmly, and Arthur was amused to see a faint pink tinge staining the boy's smooth cheeks. So it seemed it wasn't just compliments from Arthur that caused Eames to blush. He filed that information away carefully, as he did any small scrap of personal information that Eames let slip. It was endearing, but, then, there wasn't much about Eames that Arthur _didn't_ find endearing.

"Well then," Ariadne said brightly, "Since you guys are so deadly dull, I'll just have to regale you both with the tales of what _I_ have been up to since the last time we talked! And then you're going to treat me to lunch out before I catch my flight home."

Arthur recognized the trap too late to avoid it, but he couldn't say that he minded. He liked Ariadne, he liked conversing with her, and anything that turned the conversation away from what he was doing with a teenage boy living in his apartment was a good thing.

Even better knowing that this was going to be a quick visit. He could feel most of the tension bleeding out of him as Ariadne launched into the details of what she had been doing since she had finished school and left Paris. And he didn't think that it was only wishful thinking that he could see Eames warming up to her a little.

At least he hoped so. Because as much as he wanted to keep certain aspects of his life separate from one another, now that they had been forcibly mixed, he wanted to make sure that everything went smoothly.

He didn't want Ariadne thinking poorly of him, but even more, he wanted Eames to feel at ease with the whole situation. Because at the end of the day Ariadne would be gone, literally. It was Eames that Arthur was living with.

***

Eames decided that he didn't hate this Ariadne after all. He wasn't quite sure he liked her, since she'd known Arthur so much longer than he had, and she'd _kissed_ Arthur, something Eames had yet to manage... but the sheer force of her personality made it hard to dislike her.

It helped knowing that she hadn't talked to Arthur in nearly a year, and helped even more knowing that she'd be leaving -- not just the flat, but the city -- before the day was out. Of course, Eames was a little disconcerted that Arthur and Ariadne clearly had the kind of relationship where she could drop by without a word of warning... but despite the kiss, it was clear that they weren't lovers. Eames didn't think they had been lovers in the past, either. That just wasn't the vibe he got.

No matter Ariadne's talk of Arthur stealing kisses and her stealing of kisses of her own.

Eames was grateful that Arthur hadn't made him go and hide, and even more gratified that Arthur wasn't ashamed to introduce him and tell Ariadne that he was living here. It had been a risk, Eames thought, but clearly the idea that Arthur might be having sex with someone like Eames was so far outside the pale as to be unthinkable. Eames was a little disheartened by this last notion. It meant that he was going to have to work on Arthur harder than he had been thinking.

Well, that he could do. And he supposed he had Ariadne to thank for opening his eyes to this possibility. In a roundabout sort of way.

He'd half expected that Arthur would want to go to lunch with Ariadne alone, without Eames tagging along, but Ariadne made it clear that she expected Eames to join them. Making it that much harder to dislike her, not that Eames was really trying very hard anymore.

He couldn't help the jealousy that was eating away at him, though. Ariadne was petite and yet full grown, she was pretty and confident and obviously smart as hell and well educated. She was comfortable with Arthur, teasing him when he got too serious but being serious when he needed her to be. She and Arthur knew the same people, had worked together in the past, and Eames supposed that it would have been hard to come up with a more perfect partner for Arthur than Ariadne. Both in work and in the bedroom, and if that was a little crude of him, it was only a fact.

Not that he liked the thought. But once the seed had been planted in his mind, he was going to have a hell of a time uprooting it. It stuck there, like a sour taste in his mouth, only it was in his brain.

First they repaired to the kitchen, and Ariadne seemed both surprised and hugely approving over the fact that Eames cooked for himself and Arthur. Arthur made them coffee, and he and Ariadne sat and talked about people Eames didn't know, and laughed over things they'd done together. Eames probably should have left them to this, should have gone and gotten some of his homework done, but he'd be skinned before he left the two of them alone, unchaperoned.

It didn't matter that they were adults who could do as they wanted, and that Eames had no claim on Arthur outside of his imagination. Or that they didn't seem to him to have that sort of relationship. Eames was jealous, and if it was immature, so be it.

It wasn't as though they were trying to kick him out, after all. And there was the fact that Ariadne invited him along to have lunch with them.

"Go and put on something decent," Arthur said, so mildly that Eames couldn't really bring himself to take offense. Besides, he counted it as a victory that Arthur had noticed what he was wearing and considered it to be indecent, when it really should have been rather innocuous. If Arthur wasn't looking at his pierced nipples and budding muscles and maybe his arse....

Eames smirked at Ariadne and went to do as he'd been bidden. She didn't seem bothered, though one of her brows twitched upward again. She seemed more amused by him than anything else, and Eames couldn't decide whether to be piqued by that or relieved.

He supposed that for Arthur's sake he ought to feel relieved. It was a bit insulting, though, not to be considered seriously as a potential lover where Arthur was concerned. Never mind that Eames was only sixteen. He was old enough and had seen enough of the world to know what he wanted.

Ariadne might not know this, but Arthur ought to have done. Eames really oughtn't to go projecting his frustration with Arthur onto Ariadne. She was a nice young woman who seemed to like him well enough, and she didn't deserve his resentment.

Much.

She _had_ , after all, kissed Arthur almost the first moment she'd gotten inside the flat.

Lunch was more of the same, only Ariadne made more of an effort to include Eames in the conversation. He appreciated this, but it did limit them a bit, and he almost regretted coming along, only not really.

When Ariadne said good-bye she didn't kiss Arthur again, just gave him a tight hug and admonished him to call, text, or email her more often. Arthur hugged her back and told her to do the same, at which they'd both chuckled a little shamefacedly.

Ariadne turned to Eames, probably catching him at the tail end of his eye-roll, but she didn't call him on it. Instead, to his surprise, she dragged him into a tight hug and stood on tiptoe to gave him a solid kiss on the cheek. He couldn't help flushing, then glared at Arthur when he smirked at him.

"Here's my number and email address," Ariadne said, pressing a sheet of notepaper into Eames' hand. "Keep in contact. I want to hear how you're doing and I want to make sure Arthur is treating you right."

"Ariadne!" Arthur squawked in protest, but he didn't specify what part of this directive had offended him.

"It was nice meeting you," Eames offered, and he thought it sounded a bit lame, but he also thought that he just might mean it.

Ariadne really made it hard for him to hate her. And it was remarkably easy to like her. Overall it was a bit comforting and very disconcerting to realize that Arthur actually had friends.

Eames wondered whether he himself might someday be considered one of Arthur's friends. He hoped so.

***

Sometimes Arthur wondered why he had friends. Not that he begrudged Ariadne her curiosity. But he _did_ resent Cobb's nosiness, more than a little.

He gave some thought to calling Cobb once they'd seen Ariadne off and he and Eames gotten back to the apartment, but Cobb was probably expecting that. Arthur was feeling just resentful enough to make him wait... and, besides, he figured he needed to give Ariadne a chance to report back to the man.

Oh, she'd promised not to say anything Arthur didn't want her to. And she was a person who kept her word. But Arthur hadn't specifically asked her _not_ to say anything, so in theory anything she had seen today would be fair game, for her to share with Cobb.

Honestly, Arthur had no idea what Cobb would think of the whole matter. In part because he had no idea how Ariadne was going to spin things. Maybe if Cobb didn't call Arthur, Arthur would call Cobb....

But first he needed to make some plans. He needed to find a job or several outside the city, and he needed to track down a new place for himself and Eames to live. He knew he should probably discuss it with Eames first, but the plain fact was that if even Cobb had heard rumors about how Arthur hadn't been leaving town, he needed to make a change. Being predictable was dangerous, and Arthur knew better than to become a sitting duck.

Well, he would _discuss_ it with Eames. But he'd make it clear that they really ought to get out of here in a timely manner, and Eames was intelligent enough that he'd be sure to agree with Arthur.

It occurred to Arthur that he was almost forgetting that Eames was a _teenager_. So even though he was smart and knew how things worked, he might have trouble leaving. Especially since he had at least one friend in town....

But that could wait. First Arthur would find a job or two elsewhere. He didn't see anything wrong with mostly accepting jobs nearby, or that he could do from his home, but if it meant that people knew where to find him any given time -- people who might have cause to want to damage him for any given reason -- then getting away for a while wasn't a bad idea.

It would take Eames away from the gym but Arthur could help him keep up his exercising and sparring. And he could continue to do his schooling on Arthur's laptop. After what had happened with Donovan, no way was Arthur leaving Eames home alone, especially for an unspecified amount of time.

"You're awfully quiet," Eames said softly, peering over at Arthur from where he was lounging on the sofa with another of his thick books. Eames was wearing a sweater and some loose-fit jeans now; in theory less blatantly sexual than his outfit of this morning, but to Arthur he didn't look any less desirable. Arthur sort of had to wonder if there was anything Eames could wear that _wouldn't_ turn him on.

Arthur shrugged. "No less than you," he replied, but fondly, not sharply. "I'm sorry that Ariadne kind of hijacked our day. Hope you didn't have anything planned."

"Nothing that I can't do this afternoon," Eames said easily, but there was something in his tone, something that Arthur couldn't read. He had that trouble with Eames sometimes, but he didn't mind. He'd come to be pretty confident that as long as their interests and needs didn't come into direct conflict, Eames wouldn't turn on him.

Arthur liked to _think_ that there was a certain amount of trust between the two of them, but he wasn't sure what he was basing this on. He knew better than to trust anyone. Everyone could screw you over. Cobb certainly had done, even if he hadn't really done it on purpose. Ariadne hadn't yet, and Arthur _mostly_ trusted her, but he knew that things could happen.

For some reason he trusted Eames, and as yet the boy hadn't given him any reason not to. He couldn't be sure that Eames trusted him in turn, but then, he couldn't be sure that Eames _ought_ to trust him.

"So, I was thinking," Arthur began, and from the way Eames very subtly went on alert, Arthur suddenly realized that this was what the boy had been waiting for. "Ariadne had a point, in a manner of speaking, though she might not have realized it. It's good to have a home, but if I'm here all the time and this is known, then people will know where to find me. And that's not a good thing. I'm going to start taking job offers out of town, probably out of the country, and I think it's only common sense that you come with me."

Eames blinked at him for several long moments. Arthur kind of wished he knew what was going on behind those lovely eyes, behind that carefully blank face. If Eames really protested, Arthur supposed that he could leave him at home.... The boy knew how to shoot, he knew how to take down a man twice his size, and he was smart enough to avoid getting into a situation where he would have to do either. Arthur wouldn't like it, though, and he would worry the whole time he was gone.

"Really?" Eames bit at his lower lip, and he looked unaccountably young and vulnerable for a moment. "You'd take me with you while you're working?"

"Well, not on the actual job," Arthur demurred. "I wouldn't want to expose you to the sort of people I tend to work with. But I'd set you up in a nice hotel and you'd be able to use my laptop for your schoolwork."

Eames was nodding slowly, and now he looked thoughtful.

"I might need your help with some of the busywork," Arthur added, and he meant it, he wasn't humoring Eames. He'd actually come to value any of the work Eames did for him and the way it freed him up to focus on the more important things.

"I can do that," Eames said, and then he smiled brightly. "Well, in this case, I'm glad Ariadne visited."

Arthur smiled back before he could help himself, not that there was any real reason not to. "It's only prudent. I don't know who's been telling tales, but if word has gotten out, that's not good. I don't have any active enemies that I know of, but I couldn't have predicted that Donovan would have come after me. You can't prepare for something you can't anticipate. Not effectively, at any rate. Are you sure you're okay with leaving, though?"

"Well, we'd be coming back here in between times, right?" Eames asked.

"Until I decide whether or not we should move," Arthur replied, deciding it might be a good idea to begin easing Eames into the idea. "You sure there isn't anyone or anything you'd miss here? Like Yusuf?"

Eames snorted, but only in amusement, not scorn. "Yusuf? Naw, he's my mate, but he's not someone I'd miss while we were traveling. If we moved to a different city I might miss him, but that's what phones and emails are for, yeah?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of a different state, or maybe even country," Arthur informed Eames ruefully. "But that's not something to be decided immediately, and I wouldn't relocate without discussing it with you first. For right now, I'll hunt down a nice safe but interesting job out of the area. Just on principle. I don't like being predictable."

"I've never considered you predictable," Eames said with a little laugh, and Arthur realized that all of the tension the boy had been holding about him had eased away. He wasn't sure how he had affected this change, but he was glad to see it.

"Don't think I've forgotten all the times you've accused me of being dull," Arthur said, raising his brows.

Eames grinned at him. "Dull and predictable are two different things," he claimed. "You're only one of the two."

Arthur shook his head but he didn't really mind. "All right. As long as we understand each other."

Eames snorted again, and it was definitely a sound of amusement. "Never that, darling," he drawled, and for some reason he couldn't quantify Arthur could feel his ears warming. "But that's what keeps things interesting."

Since he didn't disagree, Arthur turned his attention to calling up information on current extraction jobs that might need a point man, and after a few moments of intent staring, Eames returned to his book.

Arthur resolutely told himself he was relieved, but a part of him missed the focused attention and he found he was looking forward to a couple of hours from now, when Eames would begin making dinner and Arthur would join him in the kitchen, staying out of the way and offering up potential jobs in order to get Eames' input.

He found himself inordinately grateful that Ariadne's visit had been short, and he was a little sad that soon they wouldn't have these quiet afternoons and evenings at home alone.... But they'd be traveling together as well, and so that was all right.

Arthur wasn't sure how the two of them had become so domestic, but he was only grateful for it. And he wouldn't have given it up for all the money in the world.

***

Eames didn't want Arthur to know, but he was actually excited to be traveling. Aside from the trip he'd made from England to the States, he hadn't really been much of anywhere. He'd always had great plans, but never had the means with which to realize them.

"Are you _sure_ you're not blowing him?" Yusuf asked, for about the sixth time in as many months.

Eames didn't restrain himself from rolling his eyes so hard he almost tipped over. Or maybe that was the effect of the nicotine. He'd damned well near quit smoking since moving in with Arthur, especially since he'd begun working out daily, and if it was going to make him feel this dizzy and breathless, maybe he ought to give up cigarettes entirely. It wasn't even any of the illicit stuff. Yusuf _said_ he was out, and even if he was lying Eames didn't intend to come home with bloodshot eyes and a penchant for snacking. Arthur never said anything judgmental when that happened, but he had didn't have to say the words for Eames to feel the weight of his disapproval.

Eames wasn't sure when he'd become so dependant upon Arthur's opinion of him, but he didn't fight it. Not often, anyway. He supposed that Arthur would scorn him if he knew... but maybe not. That was one of the good things about Arthur; he really was as nice as he seemed, most of the time. He was a stickler for things being done his way, but he usually had a good reason for wanting them done his way. And he was _usually_ open to listening to an opposing viewpoint, even if he didn't always concede the point.

Mostly Eames liked it when he earned Arthur's respect by listening and proving that he could make the right, informed choice. But it was also true that Arthur was more pleasant to live with when Eames just agreed with him, so Eames was only contrary to be contrary once in a while.

Of course, all this was helped along by the fact that the few times that Eames had held a different opinion on something from Arthur and been _right_ , Arthur had graciously acceded the point. And that had won him about a million points with Eames, because in his experience most adults who was shown up as being wrong had only gotten angry, defensive, and taken it out of his hide.

"I only _wish_ ," Eames grumbled, stubbing out his cigarette a bit viciously. He'd smoked it all the way down, but he'd decided it would be his last... at least for a while. He was sure Yusuf would be glad if Eames stopped bumming them off of him. And it would be good not to see Arthur's nose wrinkle in distaste when Eames returned home.

"You do realize how pathetic you sound, don't you?" Yusuf asked, his tone as gentle as though he was breaking some particularly bad news. "Why don't you simply jump him and put us all out of your misery?"

"It's not that easy," Eames replied pensively, absently flexing one of his arms and taking pleasure in the fact that he'd definitely put on some muscle since the last time he'd visited Yusuf. Although, if he thought about it, that indicated that it had been too long since the last time he'd come to see his friend. At least Yusuf didn't seem to mind, was just happy to see him. Even if Eames _did_ bum smokes off of him. "I don't want to muck everything up."

"But you say you know he wants you."

"I _think_ he does," Eames corrected mournfully. "I can't be sure, especially after Ariadne _kissed_ him."

"But you say _she_ kissed _him_."

"And made reference to him stealing a kiss from her," Eames added, pulling a sour face. Ariadne had been cute enough, but Eames couldn't imagine feeling the same way about a girl that he felt about Arthur. And he _really_ didn't like to think about Arthur snogging her, no matter how sweet and thoughtful she was.

"But that was in the past, no?" Yusuf waved an airy hand. "If she didn't stake her claim on him, he is fair game."

"She didn't think I was a _threat_ because I'm just a _kid_!" Eames spat, and this was a stupid thing to get upset about, because he'd already come to peace with Ariadne in his thoughts, had reached the conclusion that she didn't actually want Arthur.

But that didn't mean _Arthur_ wouldn't want _her_. And even if he didn't, why would he want Eames? Eames was just a scrawny homeless teenager. Well, okay, maybe not so scrawny anymore, between the regular meals and daily exercise routine. And he might be a runaway, but he wasn't homeless any longer. He had a home with Arthur, and he earned his keep there, cooking, doing laundry, helping Arthur with his paperwork....

"Was there some _legitimate_ reason you don't just jump him?" Yusuf had come back to that question because he was stubborn and notoriously difficult to distract. Eames pulled another sour face but replied.

"After the way he reacted the first time I tried, let's just say I'm not to eager to give it another go."

"But he never said he didn't want you."

"No!" Eames replied loudly. Then he sighed and collapsed into Yusuf's mattress. "He actually said he was attracted to me. Literally, that's what he said. But he still didn't want what I was offering."

"Hm." Yusuf had that thoughtful look on his dusky, round face that meant he was about to come out with something either moronic or brilliant. "Well, then, there is something else that is stopping him," he said in his quiet way. "You just need to figure out what it is and set his mind at rest. Or give up and quit bitching about it."

"You are a true blue friend," Eames informed Yusuf, a moment before whomping him with one of his own pillows. "Also, you have a knack for stating the obvious."

Yusuf snatched the pillow away from Eames and continued as though there had been no interruption. "If he objects due to local laws, you can point out his hypocrisy. If his response is because of your age, you must convince him that you are mature enough to know what you're offering. Although, if it _is_ because of a feeling of morality, you might just have to wait until you're older. Either way, though, if you act, you'll at least _know_."

Eames frowned at the ceiling, brain working away at this, because Yusuf was making a lot of sense.

"It may be that he does not know how eager and willing you are," Yusuf added. "You ought to inform him of this. Let him know how horny he makes you."

Eames flushed, though he'd have died before admitting to being embarrassed. "I just don't want to screw things up," he said weakly. "I really like him. I like living with him. What if I hit on him and he kicks me out?"

"The man has told you that he finds you attractive and he tracked you down the one time you ran away," Yusuf replied pointedly. "I think you're making yourself miserable for nothing."

And then he smacked Eames in the chops with the pillow he was still holding. Their conversation devolved from there, and Eames thought that he was going to miss Yusuf when he was out of town, but not as much as he'd have missed Arthur if he'd stayed behind. Not even a fraction as much.

***

Arthur decided to stay in the States after all. He trusted that the paperwork he'd had made up for Eames would be convincing enough, but when it came right down to it he wasn't willing to take the risk.

Eames didn't seem to mind, saying that he was just happy not to be left behind. Arthur tried to get more out of him than this, tried for some input as to where they should go, but Eames informed him of the fact that he hadn't really _been_ anywhere else, so any place was as well as another so long as Arthur thought the job was a good one. Arthur couldn't really argue that logic.

Once Arthur had narrowed down which job he wanted, he turned his considerable talents to finding a hotel that had an in-house gym, free wireless, and a kitchenette. Not that this was much of a challenge. But he wanted to make sure that Eames would be comfortable, entertained, and that he'd be able to cook for them both if he were so inclined, and if Arthur could get away for meals.

The job itself was no big thing, but it would be a bit of a challenge. Arthur had no desire for an easy job. He wasn't in it for the money or even the chance to travel. What he loved was the dreaming, the managing of the impossible. And while he was concerned about Eames and meant to make sure the boy was taken care of, he had his own matters to attend to as well.

In fact, he researched everything so thoroughly he forgot that one little thing could throw the most carefully laid plans into upheaval. And when he was not in charge of hiring, sometimes he wasn't able to pick and choose _who_ he worked with. Not when a certain someone was a last minute replacement for an architect who came down with a nasty case of food poisoning.

Arthur had never liked Nash and he hated working with the man. This job was going to be no exception, he was sure, once he heard who the replacement architect was going to be.

But he really had no idea how right he was going to prove to be. Or for what reason.

***

Traveling was no great shakes, Eames thought. But traveling with Arthur was bearable, and he was always glad for any time that he got to spend being the sole focus of Arthur's attention.

Once they reached the hotel it was almost like being at home, except that his bed was in the same room as Arthur's bed. Which would have excited Eames a lot more if Arthur had actually spent much _time_ in said bed. Evidently when one dreamed for a living, one kept strange hours and didn't require as much actual sleep as normal people did.

Eames tried not to be bitter and tried to stay busy. That was generally how he handled his sexual frustration at home, so this wasn't anything new either. In fact, there didn't seem to Eames to be any real benefits to leaving home and traveling for a job.

Except for the fact that it made Arthur happier. That was something that Eames couldn't deny, and it was something that was important to him, at the same time it made him more than a little jealous.

But being jealous over something as intangible as a _job_ was more than a bit ridiculous, and so Eames tried to tamp down that reaction.

It was tough, though. Sharing a room with Arthur. Seeing him dressed for bed. Eames would have expected that Arthur would wear matching pyjama tops and bottoms, but instead the reality was that Arthur just threw on a baggy teeshirt and baggier boxers. Eames was equal parts turned on and freaked out, fearful that these were remainders from a departed lover. On the one hand it seemed unlikely that Arthur would buy himself anything so badly fitted. But on the other hand... well, didn't everyone want to be comfortable while sleeping?

Eames gave a brief, mad thought to sleeping in the nude... but that might be pushing it too far. He'd probably just get a tongue lashing and then Arthur would avoid the hotel room even more than he already did. Besides, it was still too cold out to spend any more time naked than strictly necessary, even if Arthur's frequent absences meant that Eames could crank the heat up higher than he was allowed at home.

Arthur always took his change of clothes in the bathroom with him while he bathed, meaning Eames never did get to see the man naked. Eames managed to "forget" his own clothing when he showered at any time that Arthur was in the room. He took pity on the man and kept his towel around his waist while he fetched them and got dressed, but he made sure that it was one of the smaller towels, one that barely covered the essentials. He could feel the weight of Arthur's gaze on him, every time, but whenever he managed to casually glance over, Arthur's eyes were averted.

Sometimes Eames took out his frustration in the hotel gym. Working the bags until his knuckles ached. Arthur was really proving to be remarkably resistant to all of Eames' best efforts at seduction. Eames couldn't help admiring the man for that, in a perverse way, but it was really driving him insane.

Arthur ended up taking his laptop to work with him so often that he just bought Eames his own, to do his schoolwork on. And Eames was so sexually frustrated and so piqued with the man that he didn't even protest this extravagance. As far as he was concerned, he was _earning_ it through his loneliness and enforced celibacy.

As far as Eames could tell, completely separate from the experience as he was, Arthur's new job seemed to be going well. It was an extraction, which tended to skirt the lines of what was legal more than, say, someone who wanted a forgotten pin number recovered from their subconscious or something. Of course, extracting was more dangerous and more interesting. Even though he'd never worked in the dream-share, Eames could extrapolate from what he knew about the job and what he knew of Arthur.

He _wished_ that Arthur would let him work in the dream-share. Or even just use the PASIV device. Eames was desperately curious, but Arthur hadn't mentioned even the possibility in all the time Eames had been living with him. And Eames didn't want to shift his focus too far from trying to bed Arthur. He was afraid that if he tried to grasp for too much, he'd lose everything.

Then again, he didn't really _have_ a whole hell of a lot right now.

All right, that was blatantly untrue. He had so much more than he'd had before Arthur had taken him in. Hell, it was more than he'd had before he'd left his home in England. He had a wardrobe full of clothing that only he had ever worn, he ate healthy and regularly, he bathed when he wanted, he worked out daily, and he was going to graduate without the trouble of attending an actual high school. He had a brand new laptop to use, he was gaining some unofficial experience working for Arthur, and now here he was in a new city, getting all the benefits of travel without any of the drawbacks. Not to mention the fact that he was living with someone who actually _wanted_ him there. That wasn't anything Eames was going to take for granted.

He really was blessed. It was more than a bit churlish of him to want so much more.

And yet. How could Eames help but want Arthur when Arthur was so amazing, so smart and good looking, so sexy? How could Eames help wanting to delve into the world of lucid, shared dreaming when even the mere snippets Arthur had let drop were so incredible?

Well, he was working on the one. He'd get to work on the other. Right now, getting into Arthur's trousers was of higher importance than anything else. And Eames didn't seem to be any closer at the start of their second week here than he'd been when they'd arrived, despite the fact that they were now living in closer quarters. Well, the quarters were closer, but Arthur was so rarely in them.

Eames sighed, setting aside his laptop and flopping down on his belly on the bed. He hated to say it, but he was bored out of his mind.

It was a little hard to rub one out when he wasn't quite sure when Arthur would be returning. He could always get in the shower... but how many showers could one teenage boy reasonably be expected to have in one day? He could manage a wank handily enough in the hour or four after Arthur had left for work, albeit taking the chance that Arthur might have forgotten something -- which so far he hadn't done because he was too organized -- but right now Eames was expecting Arthur back at any time, and so he was horny with no way to deal with it in a satisfactory manner.

Not for the first time, Eames kind of wished that he could just go to bed with one of the pretty people he occasionally flirted with in the gym or at the hotel pool. But, in some strange way, that would have felt like cheating. Never mind that he wasn't in a relationship with Arthur. Never mind that they weren't even screwing. If Eames couldn't have Arthur, he didn't really want anyone.

Strange but true, he thought, scowling to himself.

"Why the long face?"

"Damn!" Eames squawked. Then his scowl deepened, but he only half meant it now. "You know, normal people make a little noise when they come into a hotel room!" he snapped.

Arthur only grinned at him, and the dimples were enough to make Eames' heart jump and he completely forgot why he was angry at the man. How was it possible for Arthur to be so sexy and yet so adorable at the same time?!

"You look pleased with yourself," he said, watching avidly as Arthur tugged off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Eames was glad that he was lying on his stomach, and he really hoped Arthur wouldn't ask him to move any time soon.

"We've got an opening to move sooner than expected, so we should be done by this time tomorrow," Arthur informed Eames, toeing off his shoes and sitting on the other bed. "It's been fun, but I'm looking forward to getting home."

"Me too," Eames said, because as Arthur said this he felt a sudden wave of affection for the flat. It was Arthur's flat, true, but it felt like home. "Though I'll miss sleeping just a meter or so away from you," he couldn't help adding impishly.

Arthur flushed faintly and gave him an annoyed look. "Don't say things like that," he chided.

Eames frowned. "Why not, if it's true?" he challenged, rolling into a crosslegged position and jamming his hands in his lap. "You think I don't mean it?"

"I think you like to get a rise out of me," Arthur said tartly. Eames could feel his mouth dropping open, which he normally tried not to do, embarrassed by his jank teeth, but he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I think you should save your flirting for someone your own age."

Now Eames snapped his mouth shut, so hard he nearly bit his tongue. His jaw was so tight that he couldn't reply to Arthur, but he hoped that his flashing eyes spoke for him.

It might have been naive of him, but he'd almost come to think that Arthur considered him to be an equal, someone worthy of respect, someone that could make his own decisions. It _hurt_ to hear otherwise, to have Arthur dismiss Eames as though he was a gauche child. He was only a little over a month away from his seventeenth birthday now, and even if that wasn't true, he'd have thought that Arthur knew him well enough by now to give him some credit.

"Get dressed and I'll take you out to dinner," Arthur said, and if he'd meant this to be some sort of half-assed apology then maybe he shouldn't have made it sound so much like an order.

Eames sat there and scowled down at his hands where they were clenched into fists in his lap, not even watching as Arthur changed his shirt and then vanished into the bathroom to freshen up. Probably slapping more pomade in his hair in case a single strand might defy his will, Eames thought angrily. To his horror, he could feel his chin wobbling, and his eyes were hot and wet. If he tried to speak up now to say he didn't want to go out he'd just end up crying, he was sure. So instead he silently got off the bed and pulled on some nice clothes.

Before, he'd have been thrilled to have a meal out with Arthur. He had spent most of this trip hidden away here in this hotel room, aside from trips to the gym, pool, and local stores. It would almost have felt like a date.

It might have done, if Arthur hadn't shot Eames down without giving him a chance. If he hadn't brushed Eames off as though his age was reason enough to treat him as though he didn't know his own mind. If he hadn't been such a complete _arse_ about it!

"Ready?" Arthur asked as he came out of the bathroom looking a little damp around the edges. It kind of sucked that he could look so appealing when Eames was so angry at him, Eames thought resentfully.

He nodded, still not trusting himself to speak even though he wasn't on the verge of tears any longer, and he followed silently as Arthur led the way out of their hotel room.

He knew he was living up to expectations and behaving like a sullen teen, but... well, he just couldn't help himself.

***

Arthur could tell Eames was upset with him, and he didn't really blame the boy, but he couldn't take back what he had said. He didn't really want to, even though his tone had been quite a bit sharper than it probably should have been.

It wasn't as though this had been the first time Eames had said something intimate and suggestive, but it had struck Arthur harder than usual for some reason. Maybe because he... kind of agreed.

It had been strange, sleeping just a few feet from Eames, on the nights that Arthur was here. He knew now that Eames tended to sleep on his belly, the blankets kicked off despite the fact that constantly complained about the cold when he was awake. Arthur knew the pert curve of Eames' ass in the thin material of his pajama bottoms, and he knew the sound of his breathing. Heavy and occasionally raspy, but not quite a snore. He also knew the way Eames' smelled in the morning, warm and spicy, a little sweaty. He knew that Eames woke up hard most mornings, even though he tried his best to hide this fact. And he was far too aware of how much he wanted all of this in his own bed, beside him.

He wanted to hold Eames close, to run his hand over the bared swell of his ass cheeks, wanted Eames to smell as much of sex as of sleep, and he wanted Eames' bed-head to be even more tousled because Arthur had sunk his fingers into his hair, either before falling asleep or after waking. Or both. He wanted to help Eames deal with that morning wood in all the best ways.

But Arthur couldn't have any of that, and so he'd been regrettably harsh with Eames in response to the boy's light flirting just now. He should have been used to it by now, but it always stung. And now he'd gone and hurt Eames' feelings, and the blame was at least half on him, even though it was like he'd said, and Eames _did_ like pushing Arthur's buttons to get a reaction.

Arthur wasn't proud of this reaction. But he wouldn't apologize, and he could only hope that Eames would learn from this experience.

Normally Arthur didn't mind too much when Eames poked at him to illicit a reaction. Arthur tended to poke at Eames in turn, so he could hardly bitch without sounding like a hypocrite. But lately Eames' teasing had taken on a distinctively sexual tone, and that hit a little too close to home for Arthur. Eames really ought to know better, Arthur thought crankily. Arthur had thought he'd made himself pretty clear that night early on when Eames had tried to suck his dick out of a sense of obligation.

They knew one another better by now, of course. They knew one another's weaknesses, but they also knew where the lines were. And to be fair, Arthur had let most of the flirting slip by without comment, so it was a little unfair of him to snap now. But he was only human, and his frustration was reaching its peak. He couldn't be near Eames too much of the time because he really wanted to tumble him into the bed and completely debauch him... but he couldn't spend too much time away from Eames, either, because he worried about the boy when he couldn't see him.

Not to mention he genuinely enjoyed his presence and missed him when they were apart.

It might have been easier if Eames had gotten himself a girlfriend... or maybe a boyfriend. Arthur wasn't sure what Eames' preference might be if he wasn't feeling beholden. Arthur hadn't seen him with anyone other than that Yusuf kid, and even though he'd only seen them at a distance -- looking out the window at them on the sidewalk outside while resolutely telling himself he wasn't snooping -- he could tell that they weren't _that way_ together. For one thing, Arthur was pretty sure that Yusuf was one hundred percent straight. And for another... well, Yusuf seemed nice enough, but there was no way that he was good enough for Eames.

That was part of the problem, Arthur supposed grimly as he led the way down to the restaurant on the hotel's ground floor. He didn't want to hold Eames back from having relationships or even casual sex -- as long as he was smart and careful about that latter -- but at the same time, Arthur couldn't bear the thought of having to share Eames with someone else.

It was a quandary. One that hadn't come up yet, granted, but it was rough enough just contemplating it. Arthur didn't know how he would deal with it if it were to actually happen.

He supposed that it must, some day. Eames was a healthy teenage boy, if the musky smell of the hotel room when Arthur returned from time to time, not to mention the extended showers he indulged in, were any indication. If Eames wasn't getting laid somewhere, when he was out doing his thing, hanging out with Yusuf, then it surely wouldn't be too much longer before he was doing so. Sixteen wasn't so young, especially not for someone with Eames' life experience, and Eames was actually quite close to turning seventeen.

If only this milestone could reconcile Arthur to his desire for the boy. But the problem wasn't with Eames' age. It never had been. It had always been the fact that Arthur couldn't be sure that Eames was approaching him out of honest desire, or simply because he felt he _owed_ Arthur.

Arthur would do a lot of things for money, he would take advantage of people if it benefited him, but he would not and could not bring himself to coerce sex out of someone who had come to mean as much to him as Eames had done.

It just wasn't in his nature. And Eames needed to learn that, even if he had to learn it the hard way.

***

Arthur was being quiet, and Eames didn't mind. He didn't exactly want to talk to the man right now. It was more satisfying to sit and sulk while he picked at his meal. This might make him childish, but he felt he had the right.

After all, if Arthur was going to _treat_ him like a child, Eames might as well indulge in _behaving_ like one, right?

He knew that Arthur was thinking, and normally he'd wonder what was going on in the man's strange, sometimes twisted mind... but right now he was too hurt and angry to really care. Unless Arthur came out with an apology, he could bleeding think himself in circles all night. And if he _did_ apologize... well, Eames wasn't so sure he would be willing to forgive him.

That was a moot point until it happened, of course. And Arthur didn't really seem as though he were inclined to apologize. So Eames definitely wasn't in a forgiving mood.

"Oh, hey, Arthur. What are you doing here? Well, eating, obviously. So, who's this?"

And that was how Eames met Nash.

Arthur's lips pressed together and he bristled like a cat facing a stray mutt, but in a controlled way. Eames had to wonder if anyone who didn't know Arthur as well as he did would have noticed the shift.

"Not that it's any of your business," Arthur said with pure ice in his tone, like Eames had never heard from him, "But this is Eames. Eames, meet Nash. He'll be leaving now."

Eames had heard of Nash already, because Arthur sometimes talked to him about work. He never said anything that could compromise Eames; he had always been careful about that. But during this job, he'd had a lot to say about their architect, none of it good, and he could vent to Eames without it potentially getting back to anyone on his team. And vent he had done.

Nash was, in Arthur's own words, "quite a douchebag," and Eames didn't see anything, now that he had met the man to contradict that assessment.

Still, there was something... something about the way Nash's dark eyes ran over Eames, knowing and appreciative, as though he was seeing _Eames_ , and seeing him as someone who was desirable rather than a simple child to be ordered about and chided for having a mind of his own. That set him a few rungs above Arthur in Eames' esteem right now, however temporarily.

"So this is why you've been heading back to your hotel most nights," Nash smirked, sliding into a third chair at their table despite Arthur's clear dismissal. Eames would give him some kudos for that, though it might be as much lack of a sense of self preservation as it was brazen balls.

"Can't say I blame you," Nash continued, and he pretty much leered at Eames. Eames was used to being hit on from time to time, especially since Arthur had taken him in and he didn't look like a homeless kid any longer, but Nash was so blatant about it that it actually made him feel a little uncomfortable.

Arthur looked purely murderous, and Eames began to actively fear that their dinner was going to be interrupted by violence and possible homicide. Arthur already despised Nash, as he had made more than clear to Eames during the span of the job, but this was going beyond annoyance and into realms of actual hatred.

"Whatever you're thinking, you can stop thinking it right now," Arthur said, the words clipped and hard. Eames had thought he'd had it bad in the hotel room before they'd come down here, but Arthur's tone then had been downright gentle compared to now. "Unlike you, I am not a pervert."

At this, Eames saw red, literally, and the buzzing in his ears prevented him from hearing how Nash responded to Arthur. It was one thing for Arthur to give him the brush-off in private because he didn't take what Eames had said seriously -- and it hadn't even been that suggestive -- but for him to now imply to someone else that Eames was nothing but a child who needed to be protected and who wasn't worthy of viewing in a sexual manner....

Nash didn't seem cowed in the least, and as his senses came back online and his brain began working again, Eames found himself feeling a certain amount of respect for the man due to this, tempered though it might be.

But, hey, at least Nash wasn't treating him like a fucking _infant_.

Really, Eames thought Nash was more foolish than brave to ignore the way Arthur was glaring at him, but the man didn't budge. He remained at their table, and since Arthur wouldn't indulge him in conversation, it fell to Eames to do so.

He might have been doing it partially to spite Arthur, Eames could admit. But it was also nice to talk to an adult who took him seriously. It was nice to _talk_ , considering the way the two of them had been eating in silence up to the point that Nash had joined them. And, besides, it was flattering, the way that Nash was so obviously undressing Eames with his eyes, the undisguised desire in his eyes. Eames had seen the same heat in Arthur's gaze, but Arthur had always tried to hide it, to tamp it down.

Nash wasn't really anything like Arthur. They were around the same age, in their late twenties or early thirties, and they both had dark eyes and rather big ears, but that was about where the resemblance ended. Still, there was enough of a faint resemblance to pique Eames' interest, and enough returned interest from Nash to maintain it.

Okay, so Eames was well aware that he was only trying to get back at Arthur in leading Nash on... but what was wrong with that? Eames was hurt and angry, he hadn't gotten off in company since he'd moved into Arthur's flat, and what did he get in return for his restraint? Arthur treating him like a child and snapping at him for flirting. Maybe it was time to move on and give someone else a chance.

Maybe Nash wasn't the best choice for that. But he was here, he was interested, and he worked in the dream-share the same as Arthur did. And he might not be anything like as gorgeous as Arthur, but he wasn't particularly hard on the eyes. Maybe a bit more greasy than Eames generally cared for, but he couldn't really afford to be picky.

He might be throwing away anything he could possibly have had with Arthur, Eames thought somberly. But Arthur had thrown it away first.

***

He really ought to have killed Nash already, Arthur thought furiously as he watched his team's replacement architect flirting shamelessly with Eames. Or at least insisted he be taken off the job, perhaps walking away himself if Lena hadn't been willing to choose Arthur's wishes over Nash's presence. It wasn't as though they couldn't have gotten another architect, and Nash was really only half as good as he thought he was.

But, then, Arthur never would have thought that something like _this_ would happen. For one thing, Nash _wasn't staying in this hotel_. He hadn't said what he was doing here, but Arthur might get it out of him later, possibly with the exertion of a little gratuitous violence....

It was a comforting daydream, but Arthur knew that he wouldn't be able to implement it. Not until they were done with this job. And once this job was over with, Arthur was taking Eames and getting the hell out, headed for home. If Nash had the nuts to follow him there, then Arthur really would shoot him, possibly somewhere fatal.

It didn't help anything that Eames didn't seem to mind the lewd expressions and heavy innuendos Nash was bombarding him with. In fact, as much as it pained Arthur to admit it, Eames was actively flirting back, albeit mildly. He certainly wasn't as disgusted with Nash as he ought to have been. And he really should have known better.

Arthur was trying to figure out how he'd become so out of control of the situation, in the hopes that he could regain control before he exploded or had a meltdown -- he wasn't sure which would be worse -- when his phone gave a distinctive little chirp.

"Shit." He answered it, knowing it was going to be important. Nash had just blown it all to hell by showing up here, but their team had agreed on radio silence when they weren't meeting at the suite Lena had leased. So that fact that their leader was calling Arthur now meant that something was up. And that fact that Nash was here made him three times the douche. "What is it?"

"Need you here," Lean said, as clipped and to the point as ever. Normally Arthur appreciated this, but right now he could have used a little more information.

"Be there in fifteen," he said, instead of asking questions, because he knew from past experience that if he did, Lena would just hang up on him. "I'll bring Nash with me."

"You don't have to--" Lena was saying as Arthur clicked his phone closed, but he had no intention of leaving Nash here with Eames. It was bad enough that Nash now knew about Eames at all.

"Lena needs us," he told Nash, waving the waitress over and requesting the bill. At least Nash hadn't ordered anything, so there would be no quibbling over the payment. Arthur just handed over his card to pay for his own meal and Eames'.

"She didn't contact me," Nash argued.

"Because I just told her I'd bring you," Arthur replied scathingly, and he thought that the "idiot" was pretty strongly implied. He caught Eames snickering out of the corner of his eye, and for one mad moment it felt as though everything was going to be okay between them... only he knew nothing was going to be that simple.

Nash sighed heavily but didn't insist, which was good. Arthur would have physically dragged the man if he'd had to, even though Lena had said she didn't need him, if only to get him the hell _away from Eames_.

"Go up to the hotel room and pack," Arthur told Eames before he thought not to. Dammit, if Nash hadn't known they were staying here before, he surely did now. Arthur was usually more circumspect, but he was flustered and upset. First by his not-quite-an-argument with Eames, and then by meeting Nash here and having to watch him leering at Eames.

Eames snapped him a salute that dripped with sarcasm in as much as a silent gesture could, and Arthur restrained a sigh. They were obviously going to have to talk about this....

Well, they'd be home soon enough. They could talk there. They'd work things out, one way or another. Arthur wouldn't allow this to play out any other way.

***

Despite the resentment he was feeling, Eames did as instructed. It wasn't as though he had anything else to do, after all, and he was still looking forward to getting home, even if he'd lost a large part of the contentment that had been warming him before Arthur had returned to the hotel room this evening.

He hoped it wasn't anything too important that had dragged Arthur and Nash away from the table... but he trusted that whatever it had been, Arthur would be able to handle it. He might be painfully furious at the man, but he hadn't lost his faith in Arthur's abilities.

Eames had packed everything but the essentials, which could be put away once the job was finished, whether it was tonight or tomorrow as planned, and was just contemplating going down to the gym to try and work off some of his excess emotion, when there came a knock at the hotel door.

Bypassing the peephole, Eames went to the laptop and brought up the mini-camera that Arthur had set in the upper corner of the doorframe. It wasn't as effective as the secret peephole at home, Arthur had explained, because if anyone saw the camera they'd be able to disable it and then Arthur and Eames would be left without a view of the hotel hallway. But as long as no one _did_ notice it, it was safer. And no one had removed it yet.

Eames' brows rose as he recognized the man standing before the door. The fisheye lens made Nash look less attractive, made his nose look even bigger, but that wasn't what was important. What was _important_ was that Nash was here and Arthur wasn't.

Eames narrowed his eyes, squinting, taking a moment to examine the demeanor of the man outside the hotel room. He didn't look anxious or upset. Actually, more than anything he appeared smug. And maybe a little impatient. So there probably wasn't anything wrong with Arthur....

Of _course_ that had been his first fear, Eames told himself reasonably. He might be on the outs with Arthur, he might be enraged and he might feel as though he could never forgive the man, but Arthur was still his... his _something_.... Anyway, he still cared about Arthur and he cared whether something bad had happened to him.

While Eames sat and analyzed him, Nash raised his hand and knocked again. A slight shadow of uncertainty seemed to creep over his expression, rendering him potentially vulnerable for a moment, and that was enough to decide Eames.

He still made sure to have a weapon on his person as he opened the door. Because he wasn't a fool, and he trusted no one. Or, at least, no one who wasn't Arthur. He comforted himself with the thought that at least Arthur had only complained about Nash's incompetence and irritating traits; he'd never implied that Nash was dangerous.

"Hey," Nash said, grinning down at Eames. He was a bit taller than Eames was, a bit taller than Arthur even, Eames thought. Not that he wanted to be thinking about Arthur right now. Not with the way Nash was looking at him. As though Eames was a slice of medium-rare steak and Nash ready for dinner.

"Hey," Eames echoed his casual greeting, tilting his head curiously. "Arthur isn't here."

"I know." Nash pulled a sour face, and Eames thought that he might have looked better if he bathed... but maybe not. "He's busy with Lena. They didn't need me after all."

Eames grunted in acknowledgement, but he wasn't about to invite Nash in without more to go on than that. He still didn't think the guy was dangerous, but he liked to know what he was getting into.

"So I thought maybe we could spend some time... getting to know one another," Nash continued, reaching forward and running his fingertips down Eames' arm to his wrist.

Eames restrained an instinctual shiver of response. It had been so long since anyone had touched him. Arthur was always so scrupulous about avoiding physical contact outside of their sparring -- and there he went, thinking about Arthur again! He really had to stop doing that.

"Maybe," he said, because if nothing else, he was willing to give Nash a chance to convince him.

Leaving the door open behind him, he turned and crossed to put his weapon away. He honestly didn't think he was going to need it, but if he did, it was still fairly easy to hand.

He stood still as Nash stepped into his personal space, a solid wall of warmth at his back, even though he wasn't really that much broader than Arthur. Objectively Eames knew he could have Nash on the floor within two seconds, since one of the first things Arthur had taught him was how to take down an antagonist larger than himself. But he didn't think Nash was an antagonist, and he wasn't going to act against Nash unless the man acted against him.

"So, what are you doing with Arthur, anyway?" Nash murmured in Eames' ear, and his hands came to rest, heavy and firm on his hips. There was little chance of mistaking his intent, but Eames rather wished he wouldn't mention Arthur. "He got so defensive. Are you guys screwing?"

Eames gave Nash a point for directness, but subtracted two for crudeness. Not that a touch of crude language couldn't be sexy, he thought. But the way Nash said it, it just sounded sleazy.

"We're not," he said, hoping he sounded more matter-of-fact than bitter over this fact.

"Why not?"

It was flattering enough, the tone of incredulity in Nash's voice, that Eames turned within the ring of the man's hands, tipping his head up slightly in order to meet his eyes, and licking his lips in a manner guaranteed to draw Nash's gaze.

"I've no idea," he replied honestly. Then, even more honestly, he continued, "I don't want to talk about Arthur right now. Do you?"

Apparently Nash didn't, because neither of them was going to be doing much talking with their lips plastered together and Nash's tongue in Eames' mouth. But Eames was completely okay with that. He'd really missed snogging....

Of course, it just figured that they hadn't even gotten any further than this, no further than one of Nash's hands sliding down toward Eames' arse, when the hotel door banged open, and there Arthur was, as though he'd been summoned by Eames' thoughts and Nash's words.

He'd never seen Arthur look so livid, Eames thought dispassionately, as the man closed on them both and wrenched Nash away from Eames before he could even form a protest. And, really, it probably made him a bad person, but it turned him on _so_ much harder than being kissed by Nash had done, when Arthur hauled off and punched Nash in the face.

"Fuck! I think you broke my nose!" Nash whined, clutching at his face. Eames grimaced in distaste despite the growing indignation he was feeling toward Arthur, downgrading Nash mentally from complete douche to huge pussy. At this point Eames couldn't believe he'd ever contemplated having sex with the man, but he wasn't about to let Arthur know this. Arthur had been and was being a complete arsehole and he didn't deserve the satisfaction.

There _was_ blood, but Eames didn't really feel bad for Nash as Arthur kicked him out of the room -- not literally, though that wouldn't have surprised Eames at this point -- because Nash had known the chance he'd taken when he'd showed up here.

Once Nash had been summarily dispatched, Arthur turned his rage on Eames. And Eames found himself wishing that Nash had fought back a _little_ , so that he wasn't stuck facing the music himself.

But he drew a breath and straightened his spine, because he was no child and he wasn't in the wrong here.

Besides, it might be stupid of him, but he wasn't afraid of Arthur.

***

"What the hell were you thinking?" was the first thing Arthur asked, even though he had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer.

Really, Eames was free to sleep with whoever he wanted, as much as Arthur absolutely hated that idea. But _Nash_?! Talk about wrong choices! Not only was he too old for Eames, but he was... well, he was a complete _douchebag_. And Arthur had thought that he'd thoroughly communicated that fact to Eames by this point, even if Eames hadn't been able to figure that out himself.

"What the hell was I thinking?" Eames snapped, and he'd looked as though he'd been prepared to offer a rational explanation, but now he seemed to dissolve into emotion and anger instead. Arthur felt a little relieved that they were on equal footing, a little guilty that he'd driven Eames to this, and still incredibly angry at both Nash and Eames. Mostly Nash because he was a disgusting pervert. But mostly Eames, because he _ought to have known better_.

"I was _thinking_ that it might be nice to have a tumble with someone who treated me like I knew my own mind," Eames continued scathingly, and maybe Arthur didn't want to hear his reasoning. "I was _thinking_ that it was nice to know that someone who _found me attractive_ wanted to bleeding _act on it_!"

Arthur could feel his nostrils flaring, and he held his tongue for a long, breathless moment, to prevent himself from saying something they would both regret.

"What do you care, anyway?" Eames challenged. "You're not the--" he cut himself off, biting his pink, kiss-swollen lower lip, and this time Arthur lashed back before he could think better of it.

"I'm not what?" he asked meanly, folding his arms to match Eames' defensive posture, where the boy was standing before him. "I have the paperwork declaring me to be your legal guardian, and it's as slip-proof as it can be without actually being legal. So unless or until your mother shows up here to say otherwise, I _am_ the boss of you."

Eames went white, and Arthur immediately felt like a huge asshole.

"That... that was a low blow, you bastard," Eames growled, his normally husky voice even more raspy.

"It was," Arthur acknowledged, because it had been. "And I apologize." He firmed his jaw. "But I stand by what I said. If you can't make right decisions, then I'll make the decisions for you."

"Would you stop treating me like a fucking child?!" Eames shouted at him, loudly enough that Arthur was taken aback. "I was taking care of myself just fine before you picked me up, you know! And I can do it again if I want to!"

That brought Arthur up short, because as angry as he was, as angry and hurt as Eames obviously was, Arthur didn't think that either of them wanted to go down that path. He was suddenly terrified that one of them would say or do something irreversible, and he feared it might be him.

The rage that had brought him back here the moment he'd realized Nash had snuck out of Lena's suite died as though it had been an ember plunged into ice water. He wasn't really angry at Eames, anyway. Concerned, certainly. Jealous, yes, though he couldn't admit to that fact. And he kind of wanted to castrate, or at least kill Nash. But right now this was about him and Eames, and he didn't want to lose the boy over some poorly chosen words.

"I'm sorry," he said, and this time he really meant it. "I never meant to treat you like a child. And I don't think of you as one. But I won't stand by and watch you make a mistake like that with _Nash_ of all people."

Eames was staring at him, and his eyes were suspiciously damp, but he still looked more angry than anything else.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said again. Because he had his pride, but it was nothing in the face of the threat of losing Eames. And because he actually _was_ sorry. He hadn't known his words and actions could have so much effect on Eames. And he hadn't meant to treat Eames like a child, even if he _was_ still only sixteen.

Eames sniffed, reaching up to rub at his upper lip, and Arthur wanted nothing more than he wanted to reach forward and fold Eames into a tight hug. But he didn't have that right.

"Okay," Eames mumbled, and he gave Arthur a weak smile. "I'm kinda glad you stopped us, anyway. You weren't kidding about Nash being a wanker."

"I believe douche was the word I used," Arthur said, offering his own smile, equally weak.

Eames nodded, his expression thoughtful, and things weren't all right, but disaster had been averted.

Arthur wasn't sure what had gone wrong, but something obviously had. And he was determined to figure this out and to fix it. He was good at figuring things out, and he was better at fixing them. He ought to be able to deal with this... right?

***

Eames and Arthur really didn't speak much to each other on the way home the next day, which gave Eames plenty of time to think. And he needed to do some serious thinking.

Most importantly, he was pretty sure by now that Arthur wasn't really angry at him. Arthur had been angry at Eames before, and that wasn't what this was. Besides, Arthur had apologized and he'd _meant_ it. Eames wasn't quite sure what Arthur had apologized for, and he wasn't sure even Arthur knew, but Arthur had said he was sorry and Eames had told him it was okay.

More than anything, on the way home, Eames thought that Arthur was feeling awkward and uncomfortable. It almost seemed, several times, as though he might say something. He didn't, though, and Eames was kind of grateful, even though it would have been nice to get even an inkling as to what was going on in Arthur's head.

As for Eames, he was putting two and two together, and he was pretty sure that it was adding up to four. If he was wrong, he was so far off that he might have to leave after all. But sometimes a guy just had to take a chance.

Eames was good at taking chances. After all, hadn't that been what had brought him into Arthur's flat in the first place? And that had been the best thing he'd done in his life, to this point.

It was true that he didn't want to mess that up. But it was clear from the multiple times he and Arthur had clashed yesterday that things couldn't go on as they had been.

So, if Arthur wasn't willing to make a move, it was up to Eames. And he was pretty sure that he had an idea that was going to work.

If it did work, Yusuf would never let him hear the end of it. But if it worked, he wouldn't _care_ what Yusuf thought.

Arthur had completed his job, and evidently the woman he'd been working for hadn't been too upset that he'd punched Nash in the face. Eames figured that if she was smart enough to hire Arthur as her point man, she'd know better than to side with Nash if he and Arthur clashed. Arthur didn't say whether Nash had been there for the actual job or whether he'd had a broken nose after all, but Eames was okay with that because he didn't want to talk about Nash ever again.

So the extraction had gone off without a hitch, and Arthur and Eames had been on their way by noon. Before, Eames had thought he'd miss the hotel room a little. Now he was just glad to see the last of it and to be on his way back to the flat.

They were home by early evening, and Eames showered while Arthur ordered them a pizza. Then Arthur bathed while Eames unpacked. They were settled and cozy and fed well before bedtime and except for a slight chill feeling to the corners and the lingering scent of dust, it was as though they hadn't been away.

Eames liked it. Liked being here. But he wasn't going to let it rest at that. They'd both been victims of inertia for far too long now. It wasn't just Eames, and he recognized that now. Arthur was frustrated too, and that had to have been part of the reason he'd said the things he had to Eames.

Once dinner was over, Arthur was busy for a short time, resetting all his passwords, which he informed Eames was his habit upon returning from a trip. Eames wasn't going to interrupt this task, so he went into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror, silently giving himself a pep talk.

He wasn't so sure it worked, but he did snag the lube and condoms Arthur kept in a locked drawer, shoving them into his jeans pocket. Maybe it was wildly hopeful of him, but the next hour was going to make or break him, and he was going to do his best to ascertain that it was the making, not the breaking.

Striding back out into the living room, he could see that Arthur was finished, and he knew there would be no more opportune time.

He did pause a moment to appreciate his view of the man. He couldn't help himself. Arthur was dressed for a night in, which for him meant he didn't have on a tie or a belt, and he was stocking-footed. His collar was unbuttoned and Eames could see the tempting curve of a collarbone as he stretched to set his laptop on the coffee table.

Before Arthur could make any suggestions for what they might do with their evening, Eames moved to the sofa and swiftly straddled Arthur's lap, his hands grasping at the shoulders of Arthur's shirt a little more desperately than he liked.

"So," Eames said with as much firmness as he could muster when his heart was beating its way up toward the back of his throat. "I've come to the conclusion that we've both been going about this all wrong."

Arthur was staring at him with wide eyes, and his hands had come up to rest on Eames' hips, and that was so much more arousing than it had been when Nash had done it that the two experiences weren't even on the same plane of existence. He hadn't moved to throw Eames off of him, and Eames spoke quickly, because he had to convince Arthur before the man got his brain working enough to protest.

"You seem to think that I don't want you. Which is all kinds of crazy, but I'm not here to call you names or psychoanalyze you." He ground down a little into Arthur's lap, deeply enjoying the feeling of Arthur's thighs under his rear and Arthur's hips hard against the insides of his own thighs. "What I'm here for, now, is to tell you on no uncertain terms that I want to have sex with you."

He really, really wanted to lean forward and kiss those gorgeous pink cupid's bow lips that were hanging open, to punctuate his argument as it were. But instead he held his breath, held still, and gave Arthur the time and space he needed to process what Eames had just said.

"You're...."

When Arthur didn't complete whatever thought he might have been forming, Eames took it upon himself to continue.

"I thought it was me. My age or maybe you just didn't really want me, even though you'd sort of said you did.... But that's not it, is it? It's because you didn't think _I_ wanted _you_." He sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry that I didn't make myself more clear. I thought the flirting would clue you in."

Arthur cleared his throat, and his hands slid up from Eames' hips to his waist. At first Eames was afraid that Arthur was going to lift him bodily away, but then his palms were pressing hot and heavy against the bare flesh under Eames' shirt, his fingers spreading possessively over the soft curves between Eames' pelvis and ribs.

"You..." Arthur began again, and his eyes were sharper now. Less startled and more focused. "To be fair, you flirt with a lot of people."

Eames wriggled a little. Partially in embarrassment and partially so that he could feel Arthur's hands flexing on his waist, so he could feel his own legs shifting to either side of Arthur's flanks. "Okay, maybe you have a point there. But I only ever meant it with you."

"And I was supposed to know this?"

Eames grinned, because he could tell from Arthur's dry tone of voice that he had won. Arthur might not realize this yet, but Eames was sure of it.

"I'm sorry to have overestimated your intelligence--" he started tartly, but before he could continue, Arthur had surged forward and laid claim to his mouth. And Arthur kissed a hell of a lot better than a certain architect who would forever remain unnamed, Eames thought gleefully. Then he gave up on rational thought and surrendered to the fierce hunger with which Arthur was devouring his lips.

It was everything Eames could have ever wished and more. Arthur's lips were firm but supple, his tongue was lithe, and he kissed like he meant it, like he wanted nothing more than to taste Eames, to take control of him. Not in a selfish way, though. He was giving Eames as much as he was taking, if not more. And after an extended, breathless moment of fitting their lips together as tightly as was physically possible, Arthur let off a little and coaxed Eames' tongue into his own mouth.

Eames was no slouch at kissing himself, and now that he had a little room, he set about making sure that Arthur knew this. Besides, he had thought from the first time he had seen the man that Arthur had some of the most kissable lips on the planet. People said things about his own mouth, complimentary or lewd, depending, but Eames thought his lips were just kind of fat. Arthur's were sculpted, perfectly shaped, just the right shade of pink, and Eames had been mooning over them for almost half a year. Now he finally had his chance, and he was going to seize it with both hands -- and his tongue!

As much pleasure as Eames was taking in kissing Arthur and being kissed by Arthur, this didn't manage to distract him from the fact that Arthur's hands were moving steadily and confidently up his chest, heading unerringly for his nipples.

"All your work in the gym has definitely been paying off," Arthur murmured hotly against Eames' lower lip, following these words up with a sharp little nip at the pressure bruised swell. Eames was a little ashamed of the fact that he had nothing snappy to say to this, but in that moment Arthur's fingers unerringly found their targets, and Eames arched into the contact with an involuntary whimper as Arthur grasped the rings and carefully _twisted_ , sending a shock of intense pleasure shooting straight down into his cock.

"You can do that harder," Eames gasped breathlessly, and he felt a little stupid with his hands on Arthur's _shoulders_ , but right now all he could do was hold on tight while Arthur did as he liked.

"Maybe," Arthur growled, and since Eames' head had fallen back he leaned down to nip at his neck. "But I'd rather take my time."

This time it was a low whine that caught in the back of Eames' throat, and he writhed in Arthur's lap, bucking to press in closer, wanting to feel Arthur's body pressed up against his, wanting some friction on his rapidly hardening cock other than the stretch of denim and cotton that his jeans and pants gave him.

"You did a lot of talking just now," Arthur said, and it was almost as though he was reading Eames' mind, because his hands moved down to unfasten Eames' fly, those elegant, graceful fingers sliding under the waistband of his boxers, tauntingly close to his trapped erection. "And I'm glad that you did, don't mistake me. But now it's my turn. And I suggest that we take this to the bedroom."

Eames approved of this plan most heartily, since that was only what he'd been wanting practically since he had first moved in here.

And so, of course, the universe being as it was, this was the point at which the flat beneath theirs, the one where Eames had met Arthur for the first time, blew up.


	3. Part Three: There Are Dreams and There Are Desires and Sometimes They Are the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Amateurs," he growled in disgust, as though he was more upset over their incompetence than the fact that they had tried to kill him. And, knowing Arthur as he did by now, Eames thought that this was quite possibly the case.

To say that Arthur was pissed would have been to put it mildly. He'd just arrived home and had already unpacked, he'd reset all his passwords, and there was a nubile young man writhing in his lap that he'd been wanting to fuck for half a year.

Of all the times anyone could have chosen to stage an attack of this sort.... Well, honestly, he had to admit that this had been their best window. But it still made him even more angry than it would have done if it had happened earlier or later in the day.

He supposed he should count them fortunate that they were still clothed. And it was definitely a lucky thing that whatever explosives had been used, they hadn't been very effective. All they'd really managed had been to rock the apartment building a little, although it would be a while before the apartment below them would be habitable again.

Eames did up his jeans with a snarled curse, and it made Arthur feel better to know that he was angry as well, rather than fearful. Arthur went through his contingency plans for an attack on his home, making sure there were no snipers, that no one was going to burst through the door, getting things ready to leave again in a hurry.

There was no further assault, so he had to think that whoever had done this, they'd expected that their bomb would have finished the job. He was a little concerned that there might be undetonated explosives still in the apartment under theirs, so he hurried Eames out.

Arthur paused on the way out to make sure that Mrs. Hudson was all right. After all, her apartment was directly below the blast, and he kind of liked her. She was caring, and it had been because of her that Eames had moved in with him.

Her door was open, and when he peered inside briefly her apartment appeared to be empty. There was a lot of plaster on the floor and her knick knacks had fallen over, but otherwise her place was largely undamaged. Eames pointed out a large crack across her television screen, and Arthur made a note to try to get her a new one. Once he was finished taking care of whoever had done this, of course.

On the sidewalk outside the building, _there_ was Mrs. Hudson, shaken but unharmed, and most of the rest of their neighbors. Everyone who had been home. Thankfully, even six months later, the apartment Eames had been squatting in had been empty. Arthur was grateful; even though he tried not to make too many interpersonal connections he really _hated_ when innocent people were hurt because of him.

The fire trucks were just arriving when Arthur and Eames slipped away through the collecting crowd. Arthur kept a car in a garage a few blocks away, and once they were in it, he headed right back to the airport they'd just landed in that afternoon.

"Do you know who did that?" Eames asked. His eyes were a little wider than normal, but he still didn't look too shaken. Well, this was the boy who had stood still while Arthur had shot men dead around him. He was tough to rattle.

"Not a clue," Arthur replied. "Yet."

Eames smirked a little. "So where are we going?"

"To see a friend," Arthur said, forcing himself to relax his grip on the steering wheel. He was angry. He'd put a lot of time and effort into his home, and even though he'd been contemplating moving, he'd expected it to be by his choice and in his own time, not something that was forced on him.

Not to mention, he'd been interrupted in his delicious plan of taking Eames to his bed and thoroughly ravishing him.

"Ace." Eames settled back into the passenger seat with a sigh. It freaked Arthur out a little, the faith that Eames was showing in him, not asking questions or wanting to know more. But, then again, Eames had seen plenty of examples of how Arthur took care of things, of how efficient and effective he was.

Of course, Arthur didn't think Eames was going to be so pleased once he discovered where they were headed, and what Arthur was planning on doing once he got here.

***

Things had really seemed to be going Eames' way. He'd taken a chance and it had worked out, he'd been within seconds of getting what he wanted, and now....

Well, now things were not going so well. It was good that he and Arthur were both alive and unharmed, of course. And that no one else had been hurt, that the apartment building hadn't been demolished. But there had been absolutely zero time for any messing around with Arthur, on the way back to the airport, on the flight, in the cab on the way to see Arthur's friend....

And now they were here, and there certainly wasn't going to be any sex here in Arthur's friend's house.

They'd met some opposition at the front door, not that Eames could blame this Dominic Cobb guy. Considering that they were coming to him fresh from their own home having been blown up.

"Look, you know I wouldn't come to you if there was any danger," Arthur was arguing, while Eames stood behind him and tried to look inconspicuous. "But I need somewhere that I _know_ Eames is safe while I take care of these assholes."

And _that_ was news to Eames. He wasn't happy to hear that, not happy in the least. But he couldn't very well put up a fuss now. He wasn't going to undermine Arthur that way; especially when Cobb seemed so reluctant to let them in. And maybe Arthur hadn't meant it the way it had sounded.

Now that Eames thought about it, this Dom Cobb was the man who had sent Ariadne to check on Arthur. So he felt a little automatic resentment there, despite the fact that Cobb looked pleasant enough otherwise. Well, not that he was going to fault Cobb for being concerned about Arthur. But he'd been snoopy, and he'd sent Ariadne to do his dirty work.

Cobb was blonde and blue-eyed, and he must have been Hollywood handsome when he'd been younger, Eames mused, eyeing the man as he and Arthur argued in a quiet, low-key manner. He wasn't Eames' type, though. No, his type was more slender than stocky, with dark hair and dark eyes and killer dimples. Cobb had a certain innate charm, but Arthur was better looking and had more substance, so far as Eames was concerned.

Arthur was absolutely certain that there was no way they'd been followed, and that he could take of things before anyone could track them, besides which it seemed that Cobb owed him a rather large favour, so in the end it wasn't too long before they were inside Cobb's house, and Arthur was setting up his laptop on the kitchen table while Cobb made coffee and Eames fiddled with a bottle of water. It was close on midnight now, and Cobb had firmly said, "no soda." Not that Eames minded, and Cobb evidently had children, so he was of a fatherly mindset, but being treated like he was a kid really rankled. He'd just gotten past all that shit with Arthur!

Cobb began asking Eames questions as Arthur worked at figuring out who had tried to blow them up, occasionally stepping outside for a phone call, but more often scrolling through endless websites that looked like nothing more than gibberish to Eames. Arthur didn't protest, and so Eames gave Cobb a somewhat expanded version of the story they'd given Ariadne. He was good at lying, and as far as he could tell Cobb bought the whole thing. If Arthur hadn't been so distracted, Eames thought he probably would have spun much the same tale, but Eames was perfectly capable of taking care of this himself.

It only took Arthur an hour to figure out who had planted the explosives in the flat beneath theirs.

"Amateurs," he growled in disgust, as though he was more upset over their incompetence than the fact that they had tried to kill him. And, knowing Arthur as he did by now, Eames thought that this was quite possibly the case.

"You are going to get some sleep before you head out like an avenging angel," Cobb said firmly as Arthur closed his laptop and shoved it in its case. "No backtalk," he interrupted when Arthur opened his mouth to protest. "If I'm providing a safe house here, I want to make sure you're safe to travel. You _know_ you need to be rested before you start going after someone who wants you dead."

Arthur closed his mouth and looked sheepish. Eames hid a delighted grin. He supposed he could have been indignant on Arthur's behalf, but it was nice to see someone ordering Arthur about the way he had been ordering Eames about after the whole Nash thing. And, besides, it was clear that Cobb only had Arthur's well being in mind.

Although, there was a rising rage beginning to brew in Eames' gut, over the fact that Arthur evidently intended to _leave him behind with Cobb_ , instead of taking him with. They were going to have _words_ on that matter as soon as they had a moment alone together.

"Fine," Arthur said with a sigh that sounded so weary that Eames almost rethought his resolve. _Almost_. "We're safe for tonight. And I can get to them before they can get to you. So you'll all be safe once I leave."

Eames knew he was scowling as they split up. Cobb went to his room, and he left them with clear instructions, that Arthur was to take one guest room, and Eames the other. Figured the guy was loaded enough to have a house with two guest rooms, Eames mused bitterly. Not that he thought Arthur would tumble him under Cobb's roof, with two young children right down the hall -- as well as Cobb himself -- and he knew that Arthur needed his sleep, but it was the principle of the thing. As well as the fact that he was feeling _more than a little cock-blocked_. Nothing like an explosion to destroy the mood.

"I think the apartment will be fine until we can get back to it," Arthur told Eames before Eames could say anything, as they collected their bags and moved down the hall after Cobb. "I'll contact the insurance company once we get home. And then I'm thinking a move wouldn't be a bad idea."

Eames nodded silently, watching as Cobb's broad shoulders vanished, then he turned to Arthur and hissed, "How can you just leave me here like this?!"

Arthur didn't look surprised, but he looked suddenly far more weary, and that made Eames feel guilty, which in turn made him angrier.

"Eames," Arthur said reasonably, placing a hand on Eames' shoulder. "Look. This is something I can do better alone. I've trained you for self defense, and you're amazing at that, but I haven't really trained you how to go on the offensive. It'll be easier for me if I only have to be concerned with myself."

Eames had softened some at the first argument, but he got his back up at the second. "So you're saying I'd be a liability?"

"No," Arthur replied, even though they both knew that this had been what he meant. "I'm saying that this should only take me a few days, and I'll work better for knowing that you're here with Cobb."

Eames knew that pouting was only going to undermine his protest that he ought to be coming along to watch Arthur's back, but he couldn't stop his lower lip from jutting. He was tired, he'd been fighting with Arthur just a little over twenty-four hours ago, he'd had two plane trips in less than that, and he and Arthur had been interrupted during the bare beginnings of a long overdue tryst... and now he was being dropped off with a glorified babysitter while Arthur ran off to put himself in danger, and he was supposed to be fine with that?!

Not to mention, he and Arthur still couldn't fuck, and Eames was honestly too tired to even have a good wank.

"Today has sucked."

Arthur gave him a rueful grimace, and Eames reflected that the past thirty hours probably hadn't been much better for Arthur. Even though he was the one making the choice to leave Eames behind.

"Let's just get some sleep," Arthur said softly. "I'm sure things will look better in the morning."

Eames was sure they wouldn't, not when it came to Arthur leaving him here with Cobb like he was nothing, like he was a _burden_ , but he just shrugged and joined Arthur in the bathroom as they brushed their teeth.

Behind the privacy of the bathroom door Arthur kissed Eames, and it tasted of coffee and mint, which should have been disgusting, but Eames only wanted more. He couldn't _have_ more though, and Arthur almost seemed to regret having kissed him as he brushed his knuckles along the line of Eames' jaw.

"It won't be too much longer," he murmured. And Eames assumed he meant sex, but his voice was soft and warm, and it almost sounded like he was talking about more than just banging.

Eames nodded silently. He was suddenly absolutely knackered, and he knew that fighting about Arthur dumping him here wasn't going to be productive, not tonight. Maybe he could tackle the subject the next morning. And maybe Arthur would be more reasonable once he'd gotten some sleep.

***

Arthur gave a brief moment's consideration to sneaking out of the house once Cobb and Eames had gone to bed.... But then he rethought that idea. Neither of them would ever forgive him, and Cobb had been right; Arthur was exhausted and would work better tomorrow if he got a little shut eye.

Adrenaline was a hell of a boost, but it could only carry him so far, and he hadn't been lying or exaggerating when he's assured both Cobb and Eames that they were safe enough for now.

He still intended to get an early start. Maybe he'd get lucky and Eames would sleep in....

But that was cowardly of him to even contemplate. Eames deserved better than that. Especially since it had been Eames who had found the courage to speak up and break their stalemate.

Arthur should have felt a little dumb, he thought as he stripped and put on his pajamas. All this time Eames had been offering because he _wanted_ Arthur, not out of a sense of obligation. In Arthur's defense, though, Eames had never come out and _said_ so in as many words, not until that evening.

And when it came to a teenage boy who was living in Arthur's home at the completely and utter mercy of Arthur's magnanimity... well, was it any wonder that Arthur hadn't trusted to hints and flirtatious behavior? He'd had to be _sure_ of what Eames wanted, and until Eames had stated his desires in plain, unmistakable words, Arthur'd had no way of being _sure_.

Once Eames had done, Arthur had given him the credit of trusting that he knew his own mind. And Eames had certainly reacted enthusiastically enough when Arthur had set about kissing and touching him the way he'd been wanting all this time.

In fact, Arthur was a little surprised when Eames didn't creep into his room and crawl into bed with him. But Eames had obviously been at least as tired as Arthur, and maybe he had more respect for their host than that. This thought pleased Arthur, although a small part of him thought mournfully that even though they'd been interrupted before they'd been able to have sex, it might have been nice to cuddle with Eames tonight, before they separated for who knew how long....

But he was the responsible adult who was asking Cobb a huge favor, so Arthur couldn't join Eames in the other guest room. Besides which, once he'd gotten into bed, it would have been more effort than Arthur was capable of to climb out again. His brain was working away, not allowing him to fall asleep, but his body was letting him know on no uncertain terms that he was done for the day.

Considering the fact that it was approaching three in the morning, and he'd had a very active day, finishing a job, flying home, being nearly blown up, then flying to Cobb's, Arthur could hardly blame his body for quitting on him. He just wished his brain would stop spinning in circles so that he could get some sleep. He needed to get an early start.

Just recalling the fact that he'd briefly gotten to toy with those pierced pink nipples, that he'd almost gotten his hand on Eames' undoubtedly uncut cock, his fingers threading through the boy's curly pubes, Arthur felt his dick throb and harden a little. He really was too exhausted for anything more, though. And there was no point in letting himself get turned on when they weren't going to be able to consummate things until after Arthur had taken care of the assholes trying to kill him. And certainly not under Cobb's roof. That would just be bad manners, and if Cobb found out, he'd never, _never_ forgive Arthur.

Cobb was a good guy who was open-minded and tolerant most of the time. But Eames was only sixteen and was under Arthur's guardianship, whether the papers were fake or not. There was no way Cobb would be okay with them sleeping together -- either figuratively or literally -- and Arthur couldn't blame the man. They would definitely have to wait until they had left Cobb's house for any more messing around. That kiss in the bathroom, behind a closed door, had been pushing things, and it had only teased both Arthur and Eames with what they couldn't have.

It occurred to Arthur that instead of thinking about getting his fingers inside of Eames, instead of imagining the boy's cock in his mouth, he really ought to be considering his plan of attack in taking out the fuckers trying to kill him. They were the reason that he wasn't sleeping in his own bed right now, after all, curled around Eames, satiated from some incredible sex and planning on doing it all over again in the morning.

Damn it. Six months of frustration had been more than enough. Arthur was ready to give Eames what Eames evidently wanted as much as he did. But they were being thwarted. Skinning alive was too good for the bastards who had delayed them, but Arthur was actually going to take them out as efficiently as he could, so that he could get back to Eames as quickly as possible, and take him away from Cobb's.

Arthur's thoughts became more and more vague and unfocused, and before it was half past three he was sound asleep.

And that was definitely for the best.

***

Eames woke at seven-thirty feeling a little rested but not very refreshed, which was hardly surprising. It took him a couple of seconds to figure out why he felt so stressed, why he was waking in a bed that was not his own, or the hotel bed he'd been sleeping in during Arthur's job, but the moment it came to him he popped up and was dressed almost before he knew.

He could hear children's voices coming from a room further down the hall, but he was headed for the rest of the house. Before he even took a leak. He had to know if he'd missed Arthur's departure. If he had, Arthur was going to pay for it--

He hadn't, though. He could hear Arthur and Cobb speaking in the kitchen, and he paused outside the room, out of sight, straining to hear.

He had no way of knowing what they'd been talking about, but he thought he could make a pretty good guess from what he heard Arthur saying now.

"I'm just his mentor, nothing more, Cobb. Jesus, what do you think of me?"

The indignation and outrage in Arthur's voice was spot-on, and Eames couldn't help but be impressed by the man's acting skills -- considering that Arthur'd had his hand down Eames' pants _with intent_ just before the flat below theirs had exploded -- at the same time he felt a bit angry at being brushed aside so easily. Even if he and Arthur both knew it wasn't true.

It wasn't that he didn't understand the need they had for being circumspect. This Cobb seemed like a decent enough guy, but he evidently had kids and he had a very nice house, which meant he had a lot to lose. So it only made sense that Arthur assure him there was nothing illegal going on between himself and Eames -- and, actually, technically they hadn't had a chance to _do_ anything -- so Eames wasn't much fussed by this disclaimer.

No, what really bothered him, Eames decided after a moment of thought, wasn't that Arthur was denying any sexual interactions between them, which was a given even if it was a lie. No, it was because right now, here at Cobb's, Arthur was treating Eames like a child rather than an equal, an ally.

Eames had thought they'd already covered that, and that they'd come to an understanding. But, no. Eames was being ditched like a piece of baggage, left behind where it was _safe_ , instead of going with Arthur to hunt down whomever had tried to kill them both. He wasn't even being allowed the chance to have Arthur's back.

 _That_ was what was pissing him off.

He didn't really much care about the ongoing argument. Cobb couldn't prove Arthur had nefarious designs on Eames, and they _hadn't_ gotten to fool around. It was beside the point, and Eames needed to catch Arthur before he took off.

Eames firmed his shoulders and stepped into the kitchen, prepared to insist. The problem was, he thought with a sinking sensation, that he already knew how stubborn Arthur could be. He'd had half a year's worth of verification of this fact, after all.

***

"No," Arthur said, the moment Eames stepped into the kitchen, before he could even get a word out. "You are absolutely not coming with me, so don't even say it."

He was familiar with Eames' enraged glare, but this one was spectacularly potent.

"This is not negotiable," he continued, and he could sense that Cobb was uncomfortable, but it wasn't as though Arthur hadn't had to bear witness to some martial strife between Dom and Mal in the past, when she had been alive. If the kids were in the room Arthur would have toned it down, but they weren't, and he needed to make sure Eames understood and agreed _before_ James and Phillipa showed up. Before Arthur had to leave, because he didn't want any hard feelings between them when he walked out the front door.

Eames was staring at him balefully, and for a moment Arthur was afraid he was going to start yelling, the way he had done in the hotel room two days before. But he didn't. He took a deep breath, then deflated and gave Arthur a sullen look from beneath tousled bangs.

"Fine," Eames said, and he sounded bitter, but he was agreeing, and that was what was important. "I'll stay. Now, if I go and take a leak and get dressed, are you still going to be here when I come back?"

"I have to leave soon," Arthur warned. "But I won't go without saying good-bye. And I don't think Cobb would mind if you used his kitchen to make breakfast?"

It was a struggle to take his eyes off of Eames, who was standing there in his sweatshirt and pajamas bottoms, his hair a wild mess, his eyes still hard and bright with anger, but Arthur turned to raise a brow at Cobb.

"I'd be thrilled," Cobb said, and his voice was a little dry, but Arthur didn't have time to try to decipher his tone. "Especially if you make enough for everyone."

"Well, obviously," Eames replied a little scornfully, but considering the concession he'd just given Arthur, neither he nor Cobb was inclined to call him on it. "Just.... Just _stay here_ ," he said to Arthur, giving him a fierce look, then glancing entreatingly at Cobb before he turned and exited the room.

"Abandonment issues," Cobb said quietly, as he moved to pour himself some freshly brewed coffee. Arthur thought wryly that Cobb ought to know, considering the two years his poor kids had been forced to live without a mother or a father, but he didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

"I hope you're taking good care of him," Cobb continued, giving Arthur a hard look over his steaming mug. "He seems like he needs it."

"He's pretty self sufficient most of the time," Arthur replied, sitting down at the table with his own coffee. He wished that Mal was here... but it was no good wishing for impossible things. The impossible only happened in the dream-share, didn't translate into the waking world. "You're not seeing him at his best."

"Can't imagine why not," Cobb said mildly, joining Arthur. "The apartment under yours only blew up. You're only leaving him here to run off and hunt down the people who did that, without any backup. Only leaving him behind with a complete stranger."

Arthur was too tired to come up with a retort to this, and before he could do so, Phillipa and James tumbled into the kitchen, squealing with glee when they realized that "Uncle" Arthur had come to visit.

Arthur had really hoped to sneak out before the kids saw him, but he had a promise to Eames to keep. Besides, would it really have been better to stop by and _not_ say hi to Phillipa and James? They were getting better, but there was a _reason_ that Cobb knew all about abandonment issues....

Arthur felt a little guilty for how long it had been since he'd last visited. The kids were much bigger than he remembered, which was hardly surprising when Arthur did the math and realized it had been well over a year. Once he figured that out, he felt a _lot_ more guilty.

Still, James and Phillipa didn't seem to hold it against him, were genuinely happy to see him. Arthur made a mental note to make an effort to try to visit more often, once he'd gotten this mess all cleared up.

Then Eames returned to the kitchen, dressed, his hair partially tamed, and both the kids suddenly became quiet and shy. Eames seemed a little awkward, but he set about cooking them breakfast, and by the time he was done James was begging for tastes while Phillipa offered to help, and Cobb got five places set at the table.

It was just as domestic as it had been at home when it had just been Arthur and Eames, and Arthur found himself wishing that he actually was here on a legitimate visit.

But there were things he needed to go and take care of. And once that was over, he would take Eames away and find somewhere safe to fuck his brains out. Then they would need to find a new place to live. But once all of that was over with... well, maybe _then_ Arthur and Eames could return for an actual vacation.

Though Arthur would get them a hotel room in town, because staying in separate guest rooms just wasn't going to cut it.

***

Eames did his best to maintain a steady, trustworthy expression, but he also knew that Arthur wasn't stupid enough to think that he'd completely fallen in with his plans, and so it wasn't the end of the world that a little of his simmering resentment bled through.

Cobb seemed sympathetic, which actually made Eames feel worse. The kids were oblivious. James was fascinated, but Phillipa largely ignored him, probably because he was an older boy, in both their cases. And Arthur... well, he gave Eames a few suspicious glances, but overall he seemed relieved that Eames wasn't making an issue out of this.

Eames knew better than to fight a losing battle, however. He also knew that often the best way to get what he wanted was to go around the back. So to speak.

"I should only be a few days, a week at the most," Arthur told Eames, a mere hour after breakfast, standing outside the house, next to the cab he'd called. Cobb was watching from the front door with his children, so there wasn't going to be any kissing, but Arthur did fold Eames into a tight hug for a couple of heartbeats. For as long as it took him to whisper in Eames' ear, "I want you to start stretching yourself every night with the lube I know you have. Okay?"

Eames could only nod, breathless at the instruction and the imagery, and hoping desperately not to throw a boner right in front of Cobb and his kids.

Arthur gave him one last smile that was completely lacking in the wickedness Eames knew lurked behind the innocent facade, raised a hand to salute the Cobb family, then he was in the cab and gone.

Even though he had no intention that this remain the state of affairs for long, Eames could feel himself choking up, and he fought down treacherous tears for a long moment before he could turn and trudge back up the drive to the Cobb house. It was a gorgeous place, on several acres, surrounded by a beautifully maintained lawn, and Cobb had treated Eames well enough, considering that Eames was a sulky teenage he'd never met before who'd been dumped on him without warning, but Eames wanted more than _anything_ to be home with Arthur... or at least sitting in the cab beside Arthur on his way away from here.

Still, this was where he was, and he had to put a good face on it. At least until after bedtime that night.

It was too bad that the whole thing was a complete bust.

Despite the fact that he was friends with Arthur and seemed like a sharp enough guy, Eames didn't think all too highly of Cobb's intelligence or abilities. Which was why he was so surprised the very first night, when Cobb caught him trying to sneak out to go after Arthur.

"Look, I know what you're feeling," Cobb said in a sympathetic tone as he herded Eames back into his guest room without seeming to do so. "Seriously. If I didn't have my kids, I'd be right there with Arthur. But he's going to work better for knowing you're safe here."

Eames could hear the truth in his voice, and he only resented him a little, because Cobb was just doing what he knew Arthur would want him to do.

"He's such an arsehole," Eames said thickly, dangerously close to tears again, at being left behind by Arthur, at being thwarted by Cobb, out of fear that something would happen to Arthur without Eames there to help him.

"He is." Cobb didn't even try to defend Arthur. "But he means the best for you. And you can't tell me you don't see that."

"He treats me like a child!" Eames burst out in an agony of frustration as he flopped down to sit on the edge of the bed. "I may be younger than him, but I am _not_ a child!"

Cobb sat beside him, and Eames kind of wanted to punch him, just to vent some frustration, but that would have been extremely ungracious of him. Besides which, he didn't _really_ want to punch Cobb. Maybe Arthur.... But mostly just the bastards who had cost him his home, the reality of sex with Arthur, and... well, Arthur's presence _right now_.

"I know that you're not a child," Cobb said, and for a wonder he didn't sound as though he was simply humouring Eames, sounded as though he meant it. "But you're not experienced in the sort of thing Arthur is doing right now. Are you?"

Cobb sounded uncertain for a moment, and Eames thought that he could have convincingly lied, but he was coming to sort of like Cobb a little so he didn't. "Not really," he sighed, shaking his head. "But I still want to help!"

"I know this is going to sound trite," Cobb said, "And I'm sure you probably won't believe me, but _seriously_ , the best way to help Arthur right now is to stay out of his way."

Eames grimaced, hunching into himself. "No, I believe you," he said, his voice coming out thick and small at once. "But that doesn't make it feel any better. It doesn't make me worry any less. I can't.... My stomach hurts all the time."

Cobb's arm was warm around him, and Eames didn't know when that had happened, and he didn't know Cobb well enough for this familiarity, but he accepted it, because right now it was at least _something_ , and he didn't feel so alone.

"I'm sorry," Cobb offered, and he sounded it. "It'll be fine, though. Arthur wouldn't have gone after those guys alone if he wasn't absolutely sure he could take them."

"I know." Eames did know. But that didn't stop him wanting to be there, watching Arthur's back, making _sure_ that he was safe.

Cobb was gazing at him steadily. "You're going to try to go after him again, aren't you." It wasn't a question, the way he said it.

"No," Eames said, trying for scornful but not sounding very convincing, he had to admit.

Cobb sighed heavily. "Look. Can you promise me you'll stay put tonight? If you do, I will show you something tomorrow that might help me to change your mind."

Eames mulled this over. Cobb had already caught him once, and that afforded the man enough of Eames' respect that he considered his offer seriously.

"All right. I won't try to leave again tonight. Promise."

Cobb gave him a quick squeeze and then rose to his feet before it could get too weird. "All right." He nodded, and his bright blue eyes were fixed on Eames with a disturbingly assessing stare. "I have your word, and I'm trusting you to keep to it. I'll see you in the morning, and then I'll hold up my end of the bargain."

Eames wasn't sure what all that was about as Cobb exited his room, but he obediently undressed and got into bed. He hadn't made any guarantees where the next day was concerned, but he'd still be here in the morning. He was curious as to what Cobb might have to offer, and that combined with his promise would be enough to keep him here.

At least for tonight.

***

It had only been three days when Arthur showed back up at the Cobb house, but he was exhausted. He'd taken care of the immediate threat, and done it in such a way that he had hopefully warned off anyone else stupid enough to take a stab at him. The message should be clear enough to those with the eyes to read it; _don't fuck with Arthur if you value your life_.

Now it was done and he was incredibly happy to be back. He'd gotten reports from Cobb, letting him know that Eames was safe and healthy, but nothing was going to compare to seeing Eames with his own eyes. To grabbing him tight and holding him close....

Arthur was a little surprised by the strength of his desires where Eames was concerned. He'd thought he only wanted the boy sexually while also respecting him as a growing force to be reckoned with, but he couldn't help wondering if there was more to it than that.

Setting this thought aside for later consideration, Arthur let himself in the patio door, entering the dining room that Cobb rarely used, preferring to eat in the kitchen as he did.

The house was quiet, despite the fact that Cobb knew Arthur was arriving today. This made him wary as he moved to search out his friend and his... housemate. Okay, Eames was a lot more to Arthur than that. But he had trouble categorizing all that Eames was.

So he didn't bother, setting that aside as well, and when he discovered that Cobb and Eames weren't in the kitchen, the living room, or the guest room Eames was staying in, he figured that Cobb's office was the only logical place left to look.

As he'd expected, that was where they were. But he'd never had expected that he would find Eames lying back on a settee, hooked up to a shiny silver PASIV device.

Rage and a certain sense of betrayal filled his head with a loud buzzing, but he banished this as quickly as he could, because he needed to have some _words_ with Cobb.

It was Cobb who was speaking to him now, though.

"I understand that you're angry," the man was saying once Arthur was able to process what he was saying. "So let me just state for the record that you never said that I couldn't introduce Eames to the dream-share--"

"I'd have thought that wouldn't need to be said--" Arthur began hotly, but Cobb raised his voice to interrupt.

"AND! And it was literally _the only way_ I could keep him from going after you. _Literally_." Cobb sounded as much irritated as he did sincere, and Arthur was forced to believe him. Or at least to believe that he believed what he was saying.

"You could have tied him up," he said sourly, but the urge to yell had passed, because as angry as he was, he could see Cobb's reasoning.

Cobb's raised brows said it all, but he still replied dryly. "Because _that's_ such a good idea. I always keep a rope on hand for tying up my underage guests. And my children would never ask awkward questions. Besides," he waved a dismissive hand. "I've a strong feeling that if I'd tried, your Eames would have been able to get out of any knot I tied."

"What's he even doing?" Arthur asked, ignoring the 'your Eames' jibe, peering instead at the red countdown on the machine. Eames still had a good fifteen minutes, and what the hell was he doing alone in the dream-share? Also, "How come you still have a PASIV device if you're retired?"

Cobb looked shamefaced, which Arthur thought was ironic considering his lack of guilt over hooking Eames up to the machine in question.

"It doesn't hurt to keep my hand in, just in case," he said. "Besides, having this is worth more than what I could earn by selling it. And it certainly came in handy."

Arthur gave him a dirty look, and this time Cobb seemed a little bit repentant.

"You should see what he can _do_ , Arthur," Cobb enthused, glossing over the fact that he had hooked up his underage guest to a PASIV device. "It's amazing! Do you want to join him now?"

Arthur did, but he didn't want to let Cobb think he was getting off the hook this easily.

"We're still going to talk about this," he said, tugging a cannula and tube loose and seating himself in the chair nearest the settee. So many things he'd let Cobb get away with in the past... but this wasn't just about Arthur. This was also about Eames and his safety. Which Arthur had left in Cobb's care, specifically.

Cobb didn't look any too intimidated, which was annoying, but Arthur had a lucid dream to dip into, and so he sat back and indicated that Cobb should depress the button.

"Actually," Cobb said, with something perilously close to a smirk, "The kids are out for the day and I was hoping to go under with you."

Arthur wanted more than anything to say no, but it was Cobb's PASIV device and he didn't have any legitimate reason to refuse. Damn, but he wished he could, though.

Cobb pulled over another chair and settled himself. Arthur wondered if the choice of chairs with arms had been made before or after Cobb and Mal had begun entering the dream-share.

It still hurt to think of Cobb's wife, though. And Eames was in the dream-share now. Arthur had to deal with that fact, thanks to Cobb, and right now he had no idea how.

Cobb reached over and depressed the button, and they both sank back into the chairs, eyes sliding closed.

It had been three days, and if Eames had been practicing all this time, then he ought to be pretty good by now, was Arthur's last thought as he went under. And this was more than validated as he blinked into awareness inside the dream.

Arthur took a moment to simply look around, examining his surroundings. It was impeccable. If he hadn't known he was under, if he was a mark emerging into this scenario without warning, he'd have had no idea that this wasn't reality.

He was in a crowded city square with a white marble fountain and wrought iron benches. There were pushcarts and buskers with instruments. There was a chill in the air and curls of steam rising from a nearby sewer grate. It wasn't anywhere Arthur had ever been but it seemed familiar all the same. As though he might round a corner and find a city block he knew. As though someone he recognized might walk through the crowd and hail him.

Speaking of which, he was here to find Eames. He wondered how large the dream was, and whether Eames might be in this courtyard. He sort of wondered where Cobb was, but he didn't really care.

Almost before he had finished this last thought, though, here Cobb came, sidling up to him with that same smug grin from when they'd been awake just now. Arthur noted absently that the lines around Cobb's eyes were a little deeper than he remembered. Well, it had been over a year since the last time they'd been together.

"Pretty amazing, huh?"

Arthur shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging. It _was_ , but he was used to working with those who could do the amazing on a regular basis. Granted, he'd never been in a dream created by someone as young as Eames, but he'd already been aware that Eames was exceptional in most everything he tried his hand at, so this was hardly surprising.

"Was this what you wanted to show me?" he asked, brows rising. He could see his breath, and he wished he was dressed more warmly. The sky stretched overhead, clear but pale. It was either early afternoon or early evening.

"No," Cobb said, glancing away. He seemed distracted. "Hang on a second."

He darted away and Arthur let him go. They still needed to find Eames. If Cobb didn't want to help, he could catch up with Arthur later.

Arthur walked toward the fountain. It was colder near the water, of course, but he wanted to take a look at the sculpture in its center.

He paced around it, avoiding people and examining the skillfully etched details in the white marble. If this didn't exist in reality then he really was impressed with Eames' talent, but there was no way he could know without asking. Which required finding Eames.

A pretty young female who looked like a college student was smiling at him from where she was perched on the edge of the fountain, and he took a moment to admire _her_ crafting as well. There were people all around him, and even though projections were generally a product of the subconscious, Eames' projections seemed somehow more _real_ , more fully formed than Arthur was used to.

Like this girl.

Her hair was dark chestnut and it fell in long, loose curls from underneath a knit cap, tumbling around her shoulders. She had a soft, fuzzy scarf slung loosely around her neck, and her jacket was quilted, as though that would make up for the fact that she was wearing a short denim skirt over thin tights and heeled leather boots. Her eyes were a dark turquoise surrounded by long lashes that were thick with mascara, and she was giving Arthur as thorough a going over as he was giving her, though for different reasons.

Arthur turned his gaze away, because even though she was only a projection, it wouldn't do to be giving her ideas. Besides, he was supposed to be looking for Eames.

Cobb popped up next to him, his nose rosy, and Arthur eyed him a little resentfully.

"I see you found yourself a jacket," he said.

Cobb blinked at him, then chuckled a little. "Well, it's cold," he offered simplistically. "So what do you think?"

Arthur shoved his hands more deeply into his pockets, really wishing he could dream up his own jacket without putting the projections on alert.

"I think it's impressive," he said. "But what was it you wanted me to see? And where's Eames?"

Cobb smiled at him as though he had a secret, and Arthur was really tempted to try to shake it out of the man. This wasn't the time or place to start a fight, though, and he was technically still a guest in Cobb's house, up in the waking world.

"You haven't found him yet?"

"No. Have you?"

Cobb still had that smug look on his face, and Arthur was still tempted to wipe it off with a showing of violence. Normally he was more even-tempered than this, harder to rile, but everything having to do with Eames seemed to strike him harder and deeper than he was used to, especially lately.

"I don't need to," Cobb replied cryptically.

Before Arthur could respond, although he honestly had no idea what to say to that, a small hand touched his arm.

"Excuse me." It was the girl from the fountain, and Arthur was a little surprised, because as long as they were left alone, projections didn't usually approach a dreamer. At least not until they got stirred up enough to attack.

She wasn't attacking, though. She was smiling up at him and her lips were very pink and her teeth were very white. She was even more perfect up close, and Arthur had the weirdest sensation that he knew her. He was pretty sure she wasn't a projection of his own, though, and he'd have remembered if he'd ever met a girl who looked like this, he thought. She was model-pretty, and yet there was something very real about her at the same time. Which was a strange thing to think about a _projection_.

"Do you attend Dr Selvig's class on astrophysics?" she asked, gazing up at him with wide guileless eyes. "I feel like I've seen you there."

Arthur was too thrown by the novelty of a projection who was willing to approach him, who had a personality and evidently had a back story, to point out the obvious, that he hardly looked as though he could still be in college.

"Um," he replied, a little less than intelligently, and then he noticed that Cobb was _laughing_. "No."

"Are you sure?" the girl pressed, moving closer. She had gloves on that matched her scarf and tights, and her eyes were dancing with amusement. Arthur had been disgruntled from the moment he'd entered this dream, and feeling as though everyone knew something he didn't, as though they were all laughing at him -- literally in Cobb's case -- was not improving his humor any. "I'm Kat, and I usually sit in the front row."

Arthur shot Cobb a confused look. "No projection has a name unless they're an echo of a real person," he snapped. "Didn't you tell Eames not to dream of reality without a good reason?"

Cobb sobered immediately. "Of course," he replied stiffly. "Do you think I would set him loose in here without all the advice and safeguards I could possibly set in place?"

"You shouldn't have set him loose down here at all," Arthur began fiercely, but then something about the hand resting on his arm had changed, movement caught in his peripheral vision, and Cobb's gaze had shifted from Arthur to the girl at his side.

Only it wasn't a pretty young female college student anymore. No, it was _Eames_ , wearing his favorite thick heather sweater and a pair of jeans with some scuffed tennis shoes. Honestly, Arthur thought that Eames was a million times better looking than the girl, despite the fact that she'd been deliberately crafted to be attractive, but mostly he was stunned by the reality of what Eames had just done.

"See?" Cobb was saying triumphantly, and he beamed at Eames as proudly as though he was the boy's father; which would have been an improvement, Arthur had to admit, no matter how angry he was at Cobb right now. Not that he was supposed to know about Eames' sorry excuse for a father. "What did I tell you? Amazing!"

"Why a college student?" Arthur found himself asking through numb lips, as though that was what he should be focusing on right now, when Eames had just performed an action that -- as far as Arthur knew -- was brand new to the dream-share.

Eames shrugged, slipping his hand under Arthur's arm as though he were still a pretty female co-ed. "Why not?" he asked. "She was fun to create. And you can't tell me she wasn't gorgeous."

"That's not all," Cobb said, before Arthur could think of anything to say in response. Not that he could argue. On the other hand, he could hardly tell Eames right in front of Cobb that he liked Eames better the way he looked right now, his nose and cheeks pink, his pointy ears red, his eyes shining, and his hair a wild mess. It struck Arthur all over again how much he had _missed_ Eames the last few days... but this in turn just made him more upset that he'd come back to find Eames hooked up to a PASIV device.

"Don't give the entire game away!" Eames interrupted, but Cobb just shook his head at the boy and grinned at Arthur.

"You met me twice in this square, right? What if I told you that the first time, it wasn't me?"

"A projection?" Arthur asked, his frown deepening. Bad enough Cobb had used to have trouble with a projection of his dead wife. If any of them had a rogue projection of _Cobb_ running around....

"Nope," Cobb said, still looking far too pleased with himself, and he pointed at Eames. "That was Eames too."

Eames flushed slightly, but Arthur was reduced to staring at him in disbelief. Crafting a believable stranger was one thing. Creating a familiar face with enough skill that Arthur hadn't been able to tell the difference....

"That's impossible!"

He didn't really mean that, because it had obviously happened, but he didn't exactly _not_ mean it, either. It _ought_ to have been impossible.

"I call it forging," Cobb said, still sounding far too proud for something that he hadn't done himself. "That seems pretty apt, yeah?"

Arthur was staring at Eames, though, hardly paying any attention to Cobb. It was hard to believe that the boy beside him had worn Cobb's face and voice so convincingly that Arthur hadn't been able to tell the difference, but why would either Eames or Cobb lie about it?

"I can't do it too much, or the projections get anxious," Eames said, and his eyes were so bright that it was hard to remember that Arthur was angry at him. "Even my own, if I change in front of them too often. It's better if I can do it in private, or if I'm subtle."

Arthur had to admit that he was impressed, incredibly impressed. This was something that would change the face of the dream-share business, he thought.

But he was still furious with Cobb for letting Eames use the PASIV device, he was just as pissed at Eames for doing so, he was frankly a little terrified at the thought of Eames entering the business when the boy absolutely wasn't ready yet, and he really was dressed too lightly for this dream. The cold seeping into his bones only exacerbated his foul mood. And never mind that he was only just returned from a trip to deal with the men who had tried to kill him, who had pretty much destroyed his home.

"We need to talk a--" he began, but before he could finish this sentence, the timer evidently ran out, and he opened his eyes to the waking world.

At least here he was warm enough, he thought as he carefully slid the needle out of his wrist. Not surprisingly, however, this did nothing to quell his growing anger.

***

Eames had been happy and excited at the idea of getting to _show_ Arthur what he could do in the dream-share, instead of just telling him. But now that they were awake he recognized the dark expression on the man's face, and his stomach sank a little.

"Did everything go all right?" he asked, because that should have been his first consideration, and it definitely was now that he was awake and out of the compelling world of the dream-share. Everything in there always seemed a little surreal, and when Eames had first seen Arthur he had only wanted to be near him, to flirt with him. He hadn't done so as Cobb, but once he'd crafted Kat, he'd indulged himself. Now, though, he was increasingly anxious. "Are you okay?" he pursued, frowning at Arthur. "You didn't get hurt, did you?"

This seemed to derail Arthur a little, which hadn't been Eames' intent but it was a good thing, since he really was concerned. He trusted that Arthur would be able to take care of himself, trusted that he'd have taken care of things and come back to Eames victorious, but that didn't mean he hadn't worried, and it didn't mean he'd forgiven Arthur for dumping him here for Cobb to babysit.

He didn't think he should bring up that last, though. Not when Arthur was so clearly upset about something. Not until he'd found out what it was that Arthur was upset about.

There was a small butterfly bandaid on Arthur's temple, and Eames thought the corner of his jaw looked bruised, but otherwise he seemed all right. A little tired, but intact and about the same as he'd looked the last time Eames had seen him.

"I'm fine," Arthur said shortly. "Everything's taken care of."

"We can go back home?" Eames was as excited by this as he was by the fact that he'd gotten to show Arthur what he could do in the dream-share.

"We can go and collect our things," Arthur corrected. "There's some structural damage despite the weakness of the blast, but all our belongings should be fine. Mrs. Hudson's apartment sustained more damage than ours did. Still, I'm going to find us a new place, and we'll move there."

"Forging, Arthur!" Cobb evidently wasn't able to restrain himself any longer. "Can you believe it?"

Eames was still a little surprised by the fact that it was such a big deal. He'd assumed, when entering the dream-share, that it worked the same as regular dreams, only with more control. And he'd dreamt plenty of times that he was someone else, so crafting a new persona or even appearing as another person completely, a real person, hadn't seemed such a stretch. Eames had always been a great mimic; the dream just made it that much more convincing. It was actually quite fun, Eames thought. Wearing the face of someone better looking, more successful, someone older....

"I still can't believe you let Eames use the PASIV device," Arthur was saying, and Eames felt his happiness at Arthur's return melting away, his pride over getting to show off his new accomplishment vanishing, and he couldn't help scowling. He hadn't even gotten to hug Arthur yet, and already Arthur was picking a fight. Grated, it was with Cobb right now, but it was _over_ Eames, and unless Eames was misunderstanding the situation entirely, Arthur was right back to treating him like a child who didn't know his own mind and had to be protected from the big bad world.

"I've already explained that," Cobb said dismissively, and he didn't seem intimidated by Arthur in the least, which gave Eames heart. But Cobb didn't have to live with Arthur, and Cobb wasn't the one being underestimated, yet again. "You're focusing on the negative, Arthur. You should be focusing on what this will mean for the dream-share. I'm retired, but you're not. And what Eames can do is nothing short of amazing."

"It's not that big a deal," Eames mumbled, a little embarrassed by Cobb's effusiveness, even if he was grateful to the man for stepping in and distracting Arthur from whatever had caused that scowl on his gorgeous face.

Eames didn't understand why Arthur had seemed so upset in the dream and right after they'd awakened. It wasn't as though he'd be able to keep Eames out of the practical application of his business forever. Maybe he was just angry that Cobb had been the one to introduce Eames to it, that he hadn't been able to do it himself....

But Eames had the sinking sensation that this wasn't what it was about at all, and Arthur's next words only verified this.

"You had no right, Cobb. Eames is only sixteen; he's not ready for the dream-share! That would be like hooking Phillipa up to this machine," he waved a hand at the shiny silver case. "You haven't done that have you?"

Now Cobb was glaring back at Arthur, and the hell of it was that as much as Eames would have been naturally inclined to side with Arthur, after what he had said, he kind of found himself siding with Cobb.

"That was uncalled for," Cobb snapped, and his blue eyes were narrow, his jaw tight. "And for your information, yes, I've used this machine to make sure both my children are militarized. Something you never bothered to do for Eames, even though you damned well know that anyone with a grudge against you might be just as inclined to attack you two through the dream-share as physically."

Arthur opened his mouth, but Cobb was on a roll, and he wasn't done yet.

"You never told me not to let Eames use the PASIV device, and unless he was lying, you never told _him_ not to use it. He's brilliant in there, absolutely brilliant. He's innovated a whole new way of using the lucid dream. Can you really tell me that that's too young? I know for a fact that you worked with Tadashi two years ago, and he's only nineteen now."

It was a little bit awesome, Eames thought, listening to Cobb lecture Arthur, to hear him offering up legitimate arguments against the way Arthur was reacting to having found Eames using the PASIV device. But mainly he was smarting over Arthur's words, "only sixteen" ringing in his ears, filling up his head, leaving a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

He'd thought that the issue of his age had been satisfactorily dealt with just before the flat beneath theirs had blown up, but it appeared that this only applied to sex. Evidently when it came to _work_ , Eames was still _too young_. He was old enough to be trusted with the paperwork, but not with the actual reality of lucid dreaming. Never mind that he'd been brilliant in there, Cobb had said, a natural and a quick learner. No, Arthur was dismissing all of that without even giving Eames a chance, simply because he was "only sixteen".

Before Arthur could respond, Cobb stood. "I have to go pick up the kids," he said, and he didn't sound angry anymore, but he was very firm. "Then I'm making dinner. If you still want to discuss this further, we'll do it after they're in bed."

He nodded at Eames, and Eames was sort of glad that Cobb was allowing him the chance to talk to Arthur alone, but he wasn't exactly thrilled to be losing his ally. One who actually seemed to respect him and his ability to make his own choices.

As Cobb left the room, headed to his car to go and get his children, Eames carefully cleaned up the PASIV device and put it away. Cobb had trained him in its maintenance as well as how to use it, and he wasn't going to let Cobb down in his trust.

Arthur remained sitting, and he looked tired. Eames almost felt bad for him, almost felt like forgiving him, but then he remembered the "only sixteen" crack, and it stung all over again.

By the time he had the PASIV device all put away and safely shut in its silver case, Eames could be sure that Cobb was well on his way and wouldn't be back until he'd picked up James and Phillipa.

Turning to Arthur, Eames folded his arms and scowled. "What the hell was that about?" he asked, knowing it might not be best to go on the offensive, but Arthur had struck an already sore spot and made it even sorer. "I thought we already covered the fact that I'm old enough to know my own mind, back when you decided I was old enough to screw!"

Arthur winced, and then his face firmed. It came to Eames belatedly that they'd never actually taken his age into account when it had come to sex; it had only really been the issue of consent that Arthur had gotten hung up on.

"This isn't the same thing at all," Arthur said, and Eames could have kicked himself for leading with the reminder of the sex they hadn't even gotten to have. Surely there must have been better ways to make his point. "For one thing," Arthur continued, rising from his chair and folding his arms as well, "When sex is involved, the worst that might happen is that someone might break your heart. Hearts mend. But in the dream-share? People might try to kill you; you've already seen that happen twice. You could fall into limbo, get a bad dose of sedative, you could get lost.... Did you think about that before you tried forging? How much of that is you, and how much becomes the other person? Do you even have a totem? How can you tell whether this is reality right now?"

Eames snorted, not at all swayed by these arguments, even though Arthur _had_ raised a few good points that he hadn't yet considered. "I'm not an idiot," he said scornfully. "That's not how forging works. And I damned well know I'm awake now, totem or no. If I were dreaming we'd be kissing instead of fighting!"

Arthur's expression softened a little, but not very much. Eames _wished_ that Arthur would grab him and kiss him, just let this all slip away without any more contention, but real life didn't work like that. As if Eames needed any more of a reminder. He _had_ a totem, had created one after Cobb had explained to him what one was and why it came in handy, but he wasn't exactly in a sharing mood, and if Arthur was inclined to think Eames was an idiot child who couldn't take care of himself, well, then he could go on thinking so.

"You might know you're awake now," Arthur said. "But what about if you've been drugged? What if you're being held captive and you're not sure how you got there, not sure whether it's a dream or reality, and you don't know whether a bullet to the head will wake you or kill you?"

Eames blinked, startled out of his rising indignation. "That's... that's a rather bleak scenario," he frowned. He reached a tentative hand and placed it on Arthur's arm. It seemed like forever since they had touched. "Has that ever happened to you?" he asked fervently, ready to become murderously angry on Arthur's behalf.

"We're not talking about me," Arthur said, leaving the question unanswered, which Eames thought was answer enough. "We're talking about you, here."

Eames withdrew his hand and scowled. "You're overreacting," he said, trying to be reasonable, since one of them had to be, and Cobb wasn't here to speak sense to Arthur. "For one thing, I've only gone under with Cobb keeping an eye on me. For another, I'm perfectly willing to spend as long as you like learning how to work the dream-share before ever doing anything out in the world of extraction. And for another... did you think I was going to be content to stay out of it forever? I might be _only sixteen_ , but I'm getting older every day. And I'm not going to be content to just do paperwork the rest of my life!"

Perhaps that last had been pushing it a bit far Eames thought ruefully, as Arthur's nostrils flared.

"You have no idea what you're getting into," Arthur snapped, and any hope of rational discussion flew right out the window. "Cobb had no right to allow you to use the PASIV device. And you are _not_ to use it again. Ever! Do you hear me?"

Eames had heard plenty of heavy-handed ultimatums before he'd left his home, but he'd never have thought he'd get one from someone as intelligent as Arthur, someone he respected the way he respected Arthur.

He wasn't surprised at how much it hurt. He was only surprised that Arthur had stooped so low. He'd thought that maybe he'd earned some of Arthur's respect in return, but he was "only sixteen" after all, and evidently he didn't know his own mind.

"Fuck you," he snarled, and he didn't care that this wasn't a particularly mature response. Any chance he had to convince Arthur of his sense of responsibility and self sufficiency had obviously already passed and been wasted.

Storming out of the room was momentarily satisfying, and he locked himself in his room, as though Arthur wouldn't be able to pick his way in within seconds. But Arthur never did come after him, and Eames told himself that he was glad.

He stayed on his bed, alternating between punching his pillows in a white-hot rage and nearly bursting into tears of frustration, until finally a sort of resigned numbness settled over him. He'd clearly overestimated Arthur feelings for him. All this time he'd thought he was earning his way, even if it was only in small ways like cooking their meals, but all this time Arthur had felt as though Eames was nothing but a child, a burden, someone to be sheltered, not someone to respect and occasionally admire.

The thing that hurt the most, Eames thought as he packed his things and sniffled softly to himself -- he wasn't crying, his nose was just running for some damned reason -- was that he still had strong feelings for Arthur. Still thought Arthur was amazing and smart and wonderful and beautiful. He still knew that Arthur was deadly with a gun, he still wanted inside Arthur's trousers so badly he could taste his own desire salty on the back of his tongue....

But Arthur didn't respect him, and if Arthur didn't respect Eames, then there was no point to carrying on, was there?

Eames was all ready to go when Phillipa came knocking on his door, letting him know that dinner was ready. And the fact that Cobb suggested that they spend one more night because Arthur looked exhausted, and the fact that Arthur, a bit pale around the edges, agreed to this... well, those had no bearing on the situation.

Eames knew when his welcome was worn out, and he knew when it was time to move on.

***

"What the hell did you say to him?" was Cobb's first question when they woke the next morning and discovered that Eames had taken off some time in the middle of the night.

Arthur, who felt even more exhausted than the night before if anything, glared back at him. "Why are you blaming me?"

"I left you alone with him so that you could work things out," Cobb continued, as though Arthur hadn't said anything. "Not so that you could drive him away!"

Arthur couldn't believe that that Eames had run away. It had to be some mistake, some sick joke, just a ploy for attention.... But the room was empty, Cobb's bicycle was gone from the garage, and Arthur had a strong suspicion that this time it was for real, that he would have some serious trouble finding Eames if he didn't want to be found.

"You stopped him from coming after me," Arthur said to Cobb, and he couldn't help how accusative he sounded, didn't try very hard to soften his tone, even though Cobb had really put up with a lot since Arthur had dropped in on him unexpectedly in the middle of the night with a teenage boy in tow. "Why didn't you stop him last night?"

"I stopped him when I knew he'd be trying it," Cobb snapped back. "I had no way of anticipating _this_. And I only managed to distract him from trying again by letting him play in the dream-share; something that you outright denied him."

Arthur couldn't help flinching. He should never have told Cobb that. But after Eames had locked himself in his room, after he'd eaten dinner silent and resentful, Cobb had known something was up, and he'd pestered Arthur until he'd told him some of what had gone down after he'd left the house.

It had really stung, having someone who'd made as many bad choices as Cobb had, looking at Arthur with open reproach. And it was even worse _now_ , when Cobb's disapproval had been so completely validated.

"I need to track him down," Arthur said, grabbing his laptop.

"Does his cell phone had a GPS chip?" Cobb asked, running a hand through his hair. Arthur wouldn't go so far as to blame Cobb for what had happened -- no, the blame was pretty much firmly settled on his own shoulders -- but he really regretted coming here when his apartment had been attacked.

"Of course it does," Arthur replied, scrubbing at his eyes and getting himself a cup of coffee as his computer booted up. "But Eames will know that. He'll have gotten rid of it by now."

That wasn't going to stop him checking, but he was sure that he was right. He was through underestimating the boy. Also, he really ought to stop thinking of Eames as a _boy_. That was a large part of what had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

"I have to go and help Phillipa get ready for school," Cobb said, squeezing Arthur's shoulder briefly as he sat back down at the table. "But let me know if I can do anything to help."

Arthur nodded absently. He could hear a little bit of guilt in Cobb's voice, but it didn't placate him at all. This wasn't really anything Cobb had done. Eventually Eames would have wanted to try entering the dream-share, and Arthur would have found himself in the position of allowing him or denying him. Who could say he'd have acted differently if it had been in their own home, instead of Cobb's?

Leaving Cobb to take care of his children, Arthur set about tracking Eames down. He didn't hold out any hopes that it would be as easy as last time. This time Eames had to know that Arthur would be searching for him. And now Eames had the whole world to hide in. Or at least the entirety of the United States.

Arthur was through underestimating Eames. But neither was he going to give up on him.

He wasn't going to rest until he had Eames back. And once he'd found him again.... Well, he just hoped he could talk Eames into giving him a second chance.

Because Arthur couldn't bear to think of a future that didn't have Eames in it.

***

Getting into the extraction business hadn't really been that hard. All Eames had had to do was call Ariadne. Granted, he'd been taking a chance, but Arthur had either forgotten that they'd met, or he hadn't thought that Eames would contact her.

Ariadne hadn't asked questions and she had put Eames in contact with people that she said he could mostly trust. Not being a fool, and knowing that Arthur would eventually think to question Ariadne, Eames had used these contacts to quickly make new contacts, and then again, working his way into circles that had absolutely no connection to either Ariadne or Arthur.

Arthur might have consistently underestimated him, but Eames knew how to play the game. He'd survived on his own for quite some time before Arthur had found him, after all. He could take care of himself.

That didn't mean he _liked_ it. That didn't mean he didn't miss Arthur every moment of every day. But he couldn't live with a man who didn't respect him, who treated him like a child. Eames could take care of himself, and since Arthur hadn't been able to see that, Eames had had to break free and prove it. As much for himself as for Arthur.

Sometimes Eames felt a little bad about ditching Cobb and he felt even worse for making use of Ariadne's friendship. He really hoped that Arthur wasn't going to hold a grudge against either of them. But at least they'd both treated him like someone who knew his own mind, someone who could make his own decisions even if he wasn't an adult yet. And, as he worked his way into the dream-share community and the business of extraction, Eames found plenty of people who were willing to take him for what he could do, not his age.

One of the first things he had done, after buying a new cell phone with a pre-paid card and a train ticket out of town, had been to get himself a whole new wardrobe. Dressing older made him feel more than a little ridiculous, so he began styling his hair in a severe side part and growing out his stubble. He might not look like an adult yet, but he did manage to appear older than a boy who was about to turn seventeen. And once people had seen what he could do in the dream-share, they tended not to treat him like a child.

It was taking a huge chance, he knew, forging in the dream-share. After all, Arthur knew that he could do it, and rumors traveled fast, so it might be that much easier for Arthur to find him. But Eames made sure to only work quick jobs, and he managed to stay ahead of the rumors, if only by a little.

It made his heart beat faster when he realized that Arthur _was_ still searching for him, when he _had_ to keep moving, because otherwise Arthur would have tracked him down.

Eames wasn't quite sure _why_ Arthur was chasing him. Perhaps it was wounded pride, perhaps he felt that Eames still owed him -- even though Eames had sent the majority of his payment for his first several jobs to Arthur in a attempt at paying him back for all Arthur had done for him -- or perhaps he just felt that they had unfinished business.

In the middle of the night, during his weakest moments, sometimes Eames let himself believe that Arthur was looking for him because... because he _cared_ about him, because Eames _meant_ something to him. And maybe in the privacy of the darkness Eames might allow a tear or two to squeeze free....

But he couldn't return to Arthur now. He had too much pride. He was making a name for himself in the dream-share, and he couldn't face Arthur when the man only thought of him as a child to be coddled and kept safe.

That was the thing that kept Eames from contacting Arthur. It was the sheer joy and freedom he experienced in the dream-share that kept him going. If he went crawling back to Arthur, even if the man took him back in, Eames would have to give this up. Dreaming, building, creating, forging.... Also, he'd be losing all of his pride and self respect as well. And those last had been hard won, after years of being told he was useless and good for nothing.

It was ironic that it had been largely due to Arthur and his generosity that Eames had gained a sense of self. But he didn't see any way he could compromise. He needed to be himself; he couldn't continue to exist in Arthur's shadow, no matter how many wonderful things the man had done for him.

Then there came the day, about five weeks after Eames had run, that Arthur stopped his pursuit. Eames tried not to be hurt. He tried not to take it personally. He told himself that it would make his life easier, and it would put a stop to the rumors that had started to spring up, no matter how circumspect Arthur had been while trying to track Eames down.

Mostly, though, Eames was distraught. It was stupid, he knew, when he'd been trying so hard to avoid Arthur, to never be on the same continent, to never work with the same people even at different times....

But stupidity and emotions often went hand in hand, Eames had to admit, and he'd always felt more for Arthur than he was comfortable with, even if he'd never wanted to place a name on these feelings.

Well, that was all shot to hell now, he thought bitterly. Arthur was back in the States, setting up a home -- this time in a small house instead of a flat -- and he was doing it all without Eames.

Perhaps foolishly, Eames allowed himself to drift back in Arthur's direction. He took a job not only on the same continent, but working with Ariadne. It was as though he _wanted_ to sabotage himself by making bad choices.

The first thing Ariadne did was hug him tightly for a good half a minute. The second thing she did was step back and punch him in the upper arm, hard.

"Ow!"

"That's for using me," she said, which Eames considered was more than fair. "You could have told me you and Arthur were fighting!"

Eames wanted to say something witty in return, but the words wouldn't come, and so he just bit his lower lip and cast his gaze down, and Ariadne tugged him into another tight hug.

"I forgive you," she said. "But only because he wasn't really mad at me. And because everyone's saying you're brilliant in the dream-share. Now, what's this I hear about forging?"

Once the conversation turned away from Arthur, Eames found he could talk again, and they were soon deeply involved in the intricacies of the job. Ariadne was a top-notch architect, Eames had discovered once he'd gotten into the business himself, and she'd once trained under Cobb, who had evidently been equally brilliant before he'd retired.

"Do you think Cobb's upset with me?" Eames asked forlornly one night, when they were working late and it was just the two of them. Generally he tried to avoid the subject of the people they knew in common, but he still felt a little bad for bailing on Cobb like he'd done. He owed Cobb for being the one to introduce him to the dream-share, after all. And even though there were rumors still floating around about the suspicious circumstances of Cobb's wife's suicide, the man had seemed to Eames to be pretty much all right.

Besides, Eames didn't think Arthur would still be friends with Cobb if the man had been responsible for his wife's death. Nor would Ariadne.

"Not so much upset as worried," Ariadne said, twisting the knife deeper instead of reassuring him. "You should contact him."

Eames frowned and shook his head. "No.... He's retired. It's safer for him if I don't."

"Don't be silly." Ariadne squinted at him in a manner disturbingly reminiscent of Cobb. "I email him all the time. It's fine, Eames. You haven't made any enemies yet, right?"

"Not that I know of," Eames said, shifting uncomfortably. "But I've been involved in at least two extractions where we temporarily kidnapped the mark.... I've done more borderline illegal and shady things that you have, and there's James and Phillipa to think about...."

Ariadne sighed. "I think they'll be more sad if they never hear from you again. But it's your life."

That was one of the things Eames really liked about Ariadne. She wasn't shy about sharing her opinion, but once she'd done so she butted out and didn't try to insist.

"I'll think about it," he said. Because he really did owe Cobb. After all, if it wasn't for him, Eames wouldn't have been able to dabble in the dream-share and discover his gift for forging.

Now that word was out that it was possible, others were doing it. Eames actually didn't mind this fact. He liked being special and unique, and being in demand was definitely beneficial to his wallet, but he knew that being too well known could become dangerous. Besides, he was still the _best_ forger out there, so he got to pick and choose his job, even though he was "only sixteen".

And, okay, Eames was still feeling more than a little bitter toward Arthur. But mostly he just missed him, and he was more sad than relieved over the fact that Arthur had stopped trying to track him down.

He couldn't go back, though. A man had his pride, didn't he? Even if Eames wasn't technically a man yet. He just couldn't live with Arthur if Arthur was going to treat him like an adult one moment, and a child the next. He'd been so pleased that Arthur had seen reason over the sex thing, only to have it all fall apart over the dream-share. If he'd been asked to make a guess beforehand, he'd have assumed it would be the other way around.

"Eames," Ariadne said pensively, another night when they were closer to being finished. Ariadne generally worked a more respectable line of extraction, finding information for willing clients without any subterfuge or crimes. Eames liked working with her because he didn't have to worry about anything. Not only was it legitimate work, but Ariadne didn't care that he hadn't even turned seventeen yet. Eames had gotten some new identification made, of course, that stated his age as being nineteen... but no one really believed it. Ariadne literally knew better, but she didn't treat him any differently for it.

"Yeah?" he prompted, when she paused. She looked more somber, more thoughtful than usual, and it made him nervous. He supposed it was the adolescent in him, still giving him the kneejerk reaction of thinking he was somehow in trouble when an adult looked serious while talking to him. He kind of hated it, but he hadn't been able to overcome it. Plus, Ariadne's opinion had come to mean a lot to him.

"If I asked you to work another job after this one, just you and me, would you do it?"

Eames blinked. "Well, probably," he said, shrugging. He still felt like a phony, wearing a suit jacket and gelling his hair, felt like he was mimicking Arthur. But it worked, helping him to gain the respect of the people that he worked with. Of course, Ariadne had seen him in a tank and jeans the first time they had met. But Ariadne was special. He really liked her. "Depends on the job, but.... Do you need my help?"

"Sort of," she said. She was frowning, and she was too pretty to frown. He wanted to wipe the look off her face, but he just couldn't make any promises without knowing all the details. Even though Ariadne had never done anything to betray him, Eames still had a hard time trusting, well, anyone.

"What's the problem?" he asked, because there obviously was one.

"It's...." She bit her lower lip, but didn't look away from him, met his gaze steadily. "See, the thing is, it's in the same city Arthur is living in now."

"Oh," Eames said, and now he was the one to turn his eyes away. "Well."

Instead of trying to convince him, Ariadne simply waited. He liked that about her. She always let him make his own choices, always treated him as though he knew his own mind despite his age. He was grateful for this, and so he gave her offer some serious consideration, instead of just refusing it outright.

"You need me?" he asked again, because she hadn't really answered that very clearly the first time he'd asked.

"No one else can do what I need done," she said earnestly. "It's okay if you say no, but I'm really hoping you'll say yes."

"All right," Eames said slowly. "I'll think about it.... Can you give me any more details?"

"Not right now," Ariadne apologized. "Sorry. I'll see what I can do about that."

Eames nodded. A part of him was inordinately excited by the idea of being so close to Arthur, no matter how much it hurt, and another part of him said that he should run away as far and as fast as he could once their current job was over. But Ariadne had asked....

"I'll probably say yes," he admitted, before turning his attention back to their current job. "But I'd really appreciate more information."

Ariadne gave him a pat on the head, which wasn't incredibly respectful of her, but no one else was around to see it, and Eames had a soft spot for Ariadne, didn't mind letting her get away with those sorts of things so long as she didn't so them too often.

And that was probably the reason that he ended up giving her a definitive yes, even when she really didn't end up giving him much more information, even when it all seemed to him to be a really bad idea.

It seemed like an even worse idea when the first thing Eames wanted to do after his plane landed was track down Arthur's new place of residence. He didn't though. He _couldn't_ , because Ariadne whisked him away almost immediately, into a fancy, upscale hotel a few blocks away from the airport. He supposed he should be thankful to her for saving him from himself.

"Are we staying here?" he asked, dumping his luggage inside the door and looking around. Once again, he was living out of a couple of bags.... But now the clothing in them was of much higher quality, and if he'd wanted to he could afford to buy more. He still hadn't gotten his diploma, but in the business of extraction, in the circles of dream-share workers, no one really cared.

"I am," Ariadne said, somewhat cryptically. "I don't think you'll want to."

"I can afford it if you don't want to comp me," Eames protested, because they'd both make plenty of cash on their last job, but she shook her head.

"That's not what I meant," she told him and she sounded fond for some reason. She placed a hand on his shoulder, looking up at him with bright eyes. "Now, can I ask you one more favor? Will you go under with me, no questions asked? There's something about this job that it'll be easier to just show you than to try to explain."

Eames couldn't help it; it was in his nature to feel suspicious. But if he trusted anyone in the world -- after Arthur -- to not wish him any harm, it was Ariadne. And she _was_ in charge here.

"You're the boss," he said, and the two of them settled down on the twin beds without further ado, hooked themselves up to the PASIV device on the table between them, and then settled back as Ariadne depressed the button in its centre.

It always took Eames a couple of seconds to find himself when he entered the shared dream. It got easier each time, though, and he'd been at it for over a month now, going under nearly every day.

He didn't think he would ever grow tired of it, and he knew he'd never be able to give it up. Maybe it had been that, as much as it had been being treated like a child and ordered around, that had made him leave Arthur. Because Arthur had told him he couldn't have this. This wonderful, incredible, irreplaceable experience.

But Eames shouldn't think about Arthur. Not now. Not when he was physically so close to the man... and yet still as far away as ever.

The dream was clearly of Ariadne's design. Eames had never been to Paris, but he was pretty sure that was where he was standing right now. The street was cobbled and the sunlight was warm, everything was colorful, and the projections strolled around as though they had all the time in the world.

Wondering what it was that Ariadne had wanted to show him, Eames picked a random direction and began walking. There were flowers, the air smelled of coffee and baking bread, and children ran squealing past as Eames came upon a hidden little square with cafes and small shops ringing it.

A cup of tea sounded nice, but Eames was still waiting for Ariadne. Usually when he entered the dream at the same time as someone else they came to awareness in roughly the same area, even if they hadn't made any previous arrangement to do so, like they did in a plotted maze. But Eames was flying blind right now, and he still didn't see any sign of Ariadne.

He did, however, see a familiar face as he turned to head toward one of the cafes. He felt his mouth open as his jaw went slack, and he knew his eyes were huge, but he had no control over his physical response to the shock of seeing _Arthur_ standing beside a small table, watching him with an unreadable expression.

He'd heard about this, Eames thought shakily, as he considered whether to approach or flee. Projections taking on the form of somebody the dreamer knew in reality. It was usually a problem, usually a result of some serious mental or emotional traumas. There were rumors that Cobb had retired as much because of a projection of his wife that kept showing up during his jobs as it had been for the sake of his children. But Eames hadn't thought that it might happen to him. He had missed Arthur, true, and mourned over what he had lost, but he hadn't thought it was _this_ bad.

Well, Eames decided, taking a deep breath. Killing himself in order to wake would be an extreme reaction. He was still waiting for Ariadne to show up, and when she did he was going to be completely humiliated. But in the meantime, maybe he ought to go and have a word with this bit of his subconscious, and see what he had to say to himself.

It could only prove to be enlightening, right?

***

Arthur drew in a deep breath as he watched Eames square his shoulders and step toward him.

Eames looked good, Arthur had to admit. He held himself with more confidence, and while Arthur didn't approve of the stark hairstyle and itched to shave off the stubble that wasn't as full or as convincing as Eames probably liked to think it was, the entire look did render Eames more mature.

It wasn't as though he'd ever thought of Eames as being incredibly immature, Arthur thought mournfully. But he had obviously crossed a line during the last argument they'd had, and now he needed to make amends.

Fortunately for him, Ariadne was as concerned with Eames' well being as he was, and she was willing to be sneaky and conniving. Arthur was going to owe her forever whether this mad gamble paid off or not.

But right now Arthur needed to focus on the young man before him. No more thinking of Eames as a child, a boy, or a kid. He was seventeen -- today, in fact; something he seemed to have forgotten, or at least Ariadne had said he hadn't mentioned it to her -- and if Arthur had any hope of winning him back, he was going to have to start thinking of him as an equal and treating him that way.

It wasn't going to be such a stretch, he thought, giving Eames a small smile as he came to stand before him. He'd always held Eames in respect, and had always treated him as though he knew his own mind and could make his own decisions. He just needed to extend that to the dream-share as well as everything else.

That wasn't going to be so difficult. Not with the swath of accomplishments and competency that Eames had cut through the world of extraction. It would have been more difficult to _not_ give Eames this. He'd certainly proved himself. And Arthur had learned to set aside his own feelings and fears and pay attention to what was in front of him.

"Hello, Eames," he said, holding out his hand. He wanted to grab Eames, pull him close, wrap him up in his arms and kiss the breath out of him, kiss him until the timer ran out.... But they were here to talk, and Eames was looking at him as though he was a stranger, a stranger that he didn't trust for a moment. It made Arthur's heart hurt, but he was determined to fix this. He was good at fixing things, and this was the most important conversation he was ever going to have.

"Arthur," Eames returned, but he sounded as though he was just humoring Arthur. He clasped Arthur's hand briefly, but pulled back after just a quick squeeze. Arthur tried not to take it personally.

"Will you join me?" Arthur asked, gesturing to the table beside them.

"Sure," Eames gruffed, and Arthur pretended not to notice the way he was rubbing at his nose and upper lip as he settled down into one of the wrought iron chairs.

"You look good," Arthur said, trying for casual and probably just coming off as awkward, as a waitress came over and set a couple of cups of tea on the tabletop, along with some golden madeleines on a white plate. "I hear that you're doing amazing things."

"Mm." Eames bought himself a moment, wetting his lips with his tea even though it was still too hot. Arthur had forgotten how lush and generous Eames' mouth was. He'd also forgotten how sharp his eyes could be. "Let's cut the ego stroking, yeah?" Eames said as he put his tea cup back down on the saucer with a ceramic clash. "Why are you here?"

"Because I miss you," Arthur said honestly. There was no reason not to just put it right out there, and there had never been anything more true in his life.

Eames snorted. "I think you mean, I miss you," he drawled, and the skin around his eyes was pinched in a way it hurt Arthur to see. "Though God only knows it's fitting that a projection should project my own feelings right back at me."

Arthur could feel his mouth gaping, much as Eames' had been when he had first seen Arthur in this dream. Then it struck him; he and Ariadne had been _too_ sneaky. It was hardly to be wondered at that Eames thought Arthur was only a projection called up from his own subconscious.

"Eames." Arthur sat forward, fixing Eames with an intent gaze, willing him to take this well, to understand, to give him a chance. "I'm not a projection. I'm really here, hooked up to the PASIV device in the hotel room up top. I came down instead of Ariadne. I'm sorry for tricking you, and I'm sure she is too, but this was the only way I could think to get you to give me a chance to talk to you."

Eames stared at him blankly for several long breath-sapping moments. Arthur could feel his pulse hammering in his temples, and he hoped more than anything he'd ever hoped for before that Eames wouldn't take this poorly.

It startled him a little when Eames gave a hoarse laugh, and at least he wasn't immediately lashing out, but Arthur's stomach plunged at the mocking sound of it.

"Well, that explains why Ariadne couldn't tell me about the job, why she said that she had to _show_ me," Eames said dryly, and he didn't look... upset... but he clearly wasn't happy about the whole thing either. "So in this dream, _I'm_ the mark."

"I know it's asking a lot," Arthur continued, his voice strained, his face tight, not letting himself be distracted even though Eames was correct. "But please, please give me a chance. I just need to talk to you. I want to discuss things like two rational adults."

Eames' eyes instantly narrowed. "And you really expect me to believe you're not a projection?"

Arthur winced. "I deserve that," he admitted. "But I'm here. I'm really here and I need to talk to you. Will you listen?"

Eames scowled and slumped in his chair. Without his noticing it, he'd shifted from the snappy clothing he'd been wearing in reality and when he had entered the dream, back to jeans and an extra-large teeshirt over a long-sleeved black top. His hair was mussed and he looked like the boy that had lived with Arthur. But Arthur didn't let this sway him; he needed to focus on the fact that Eames was old enough and responsible enough to make his own choices.

"Why should I listen when you didn't listen to me?" Eames asked, and he sounded sullen, but it was a reasonable question.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said immediately, because he needed to say it, Eames needed to hear it, and because it was true. "I'm so sorry for how I reacted, Eames. I was just... I was just worried, scared for your sake. I was afraid for you and I said the wrong things."

"You were kind of an arsehole," Eames said conversationally, but he was gazing at Arthur steadily, and he looked more receptive than he had a moment before.

"I never meant to drive you away," Arthur concluded. "You have to know that."

He still couldn't believe that Eames had left in the middle of the night, not giving them a chance to continue their conversation. But then, Arthur had been the one to lay down an ultimatum. A harsh, uncalled-for, short-sighted one at that. So maybe Eames had overreacted, but Arthur had overreacted first, and this was about him accepting the blame, not trying to place it.

"I know," Eames mumbled, reaching up and rubbing at his upper lip again. Arthur didn't quite know how to read this tell; in a good way or a bad way. "I know that. I knew that. And I shouldn't have.... But it wasn't like you left me with any choice."

Arthur didn't completely agree, but he understood where Eames was coming from. He'd had plenty of time in the last month and a half to think about what had happened and how he'd screwed up. His biggest and final mistake had been in trying to put his foot down where it didn't belong. Trying to be Eames' father instead of his partner. Especially when Eames' real father was such an asshole.

"Well, you've certainly proved me wrong," Arthur offered with a weak smile. "You've working in the dream-share and you're doing great."

Eames said nothing, just looked at him, but he didn't seem as though he was unaffected by Arthur's words. And he was listening. That was good, but Arthur wanted more give and take, now that he'd gotten his honest apology out there.

"Obviously I was wrong," he continued. "But even if I wasn't wrong, I still shouldn't have said it the way I did" He decided it was time to lay all his cards on the table, so to speak. "Eames, please come home," he entreated, spreading his hands. "I miss you. I want to work with you and have your back, want to know you have mine. I hate living alone, and I hate knowing that you're out there alone, even though you're good at taking care of yourself. I worry all the time."

Eames' face twisted into something anguished for a moment. "I want--" he said breathlessly, his hands opening and closing, clenching in his lap, his lower lip caught between his teeth. "I _want_ to come home, but--"

"I've learned my lesson," Arthur vowed fervently. "I'm willing to do what it take so that you won't have to...."

"Run off like a spoiled child who didn't get him way?" Eames supplied with a self deprecating little half-smile.

Arthur didn't smile in return. "So you won't have to feel that you're living with something who doesn't respect you," he continued solemnly. "I hate that I behaved like your father, and I'll try to never do it again. But if I do, you have to call me on it, make me realize and apologize. Don't just... don't just _leave_."

"Okay," Eames said, and Arthur held his breath, heart in his throat. "Okay, I'll come home. I miss you too. But...."

"What is it?" Arthur asked, ready to promise just about anything, answer just about any question right now, if it would set Eames' mind at ease.

"You _do_ respect me?" Eames asked, and he looked unbearably young and insecure as he said it, but Arthur already knew the answer, a million times over.

"Absolutely," he said, because just saying yes wasn't saying enough. "I always have, Eames. Maybe I didn't show it. Maybe I was an idiot. But even when I acted like I had any right to order you around, I still respected you, and I didn't mean to treat you like a child. Like I said, I was surprised and scared and I didn't handle it well."

"Oh, well." Eames gave a small chuckle, rising to his feet and holding out his hands. Arthur rose as well, and Eames stepped into his personal space. "If you were perfect _all_ the time, it might be a little creepy," Eames said, reaching up and fiddling with Arthur's jacket collar. "And for what it's worth, I've missed you so much I thought I would die. I... I might have cried, just a little bit, the day I realized you weren't chasing me any more."

"I decided to stop wasting my time and money, and wasting your time and money," Arthur told him. "Instead I found a house, got all our stuff from the old apartment, got everything ready for you to come home, and then started conspiring with Ariadne to get you back. But only if you were willing to come," he hastened to add. "It's your choice."

"There's no choice," Eames rumbled, and then he moved in the last couple of inches necessary to slant their mouths together, and they were kissing again for the first time in far too long. And even though it was in the dream-share instead of waking, it was everything Arthur could have wished for, everything he had missed, and all the he wanted for the rest of his life.

That wasn't hyperbole. That was just a fact.

Of course, it just figured that this was the moment that the timer on the PASIV device ran out.

***

Eames had gotten used to a lot of strange things since he'd begun working in the dream-share, but going from kissing Arthur in the dream to opening his eyes to see Ariadne looking down at him with a worried expression had to be way up there on the list.

To be honest, it was more than a little disturbing, as much as he had grown to like her.

"I'm sorry," she said, backing off as Eames sat up, a little stiffly. "I'm sorry for tricking you, Eames. I hope you don't feel like I betrayed your trust, but I'd understand if you did. I just wanted to give you guys a chance to talk things over."

"It's all right," Eames assured her before she could continue babbling, but his gaze was already moving over to the other bed. There Arthur was. He looked exactly like Eames remembered, if maybe a little too pale and thin. He was one of the most beautiful things Eames had ever seen. "We're all right, Ariadne. Thank you."

"Oh, good!" She flopped down onto the bed next to Eames and that was about the only thing preventing him from getting up and pouncing Arthur where he was lounging on the other bed, but that was probably for the best, since they were in Ariadne's hotel room, and Eames was still technically underage.

Arthur had looked a little trepidatious as he'd roused, but he was full-on beaming by the time Eames was done talking. And more than anything, Eames was glad he could bring that expression to Arthur's beloved face. He was even more handsome in the waking world, and even more sexy than Eames remembered.

"Happy birthday, then," Ariadne said cheerfully, swooping in to give Eames a great big hug before he could fend her off. Not that he minded, but it wasn't exactly gentlemanly to embrace her while he was thinking filthy thoughts about Arthur.

"Birthday?" Eames had honestly forgotten about that. Distracted by work and mooning over Arthur... and, anyway, his birthday had never really been a big deal, not since he'd been almost too young to remember. "Oh. Thank you, Ariadne."

"I've got your birthday gift at home," Arthur segued smoothly, slinging his long, lean legs over the edge of the mattress. He was wearing a striped button-up shirt, a vest that matched his trousers, and Eames could practically feel his mouth watering. "Well, technically, the new home sort of _is_ the gift, since I got it for you," Arthur added, carefully detaching himself from the PASIV device. He glanced up, his dark brown eyes steamy, those amazing pink lips curved in a little smile. "Will you come and see it?"

"Of course," Eames said enthusiastically, before pausing. "Ariadne?"

"That's why you're here," she told him, grinning brightly and leaning in to hug him again, quickly, before she stood to give him room to get up off the bed. "I brought you here to try to get you to talk to Arthur so in a manner of speaking you _were_ the job. Thank you for not getting mad at me, by the way. But now that that's done, I'm done. I'm going to spend the night here, then head off to visit Cobb. Then I might stop by your new place if I'm welcome."

"Of course you are," Arthur murmured, and Eames might have been jealous of the arm that Arthur slung around her shoulders and the kiss he dropped on the crown of her head, but he was the one who was going home with Arthur, so he wasn't jealous at all. Well, okay, not very much. "And thanks so much for compromising your profession integrity like this."

Ariadne shrugged, still smiling. "You were both miserable. And Eames still owed me for getting him into the dream-share business without telling me he'd run off. So I figure we're all even now."

"Maybe you two are," Arthur said seriously. "But I owe you. I owe you a lot."

Eames flushed, both at Arthur's fervent words, and because Arthur chose this moment to reach over and grab his hand, holding it tightly. Evidently Arthur didn't care what Ariadne thought of their relationship anymore, he thought gleefully. Then he blushed even more warmly when he realized that beyond all rhyme or reason, he and Arthur evidently _had_ a relationship.

"Stay in touch," Ariadne said sternly. "I mean that, and not just socially. I like working with the best, and you're both the best. I'd offer to buy you both dinner, but I have a feeling your evening is going to be busy."

And she said this with a completely straight face, so Eames had absolutely no idea whether there was innuendo there or not... but Arthur didn't let go of his hand as they all said good-bye, as he and Eames collected Eames' luggage, or as they rode down to the ground floor in the elevator.

They were heading home. The sweetest word, the most wonderful thought that Eames could never have dared think.

He was back with Arthur, back where he belonged, and they were _going home_. Together.


	4. Part Four: Where Destiny Leads, There the Heart Follows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can't believe you forgot it was your birthday," Arthur said as he and Eames climbed into the sleek silver Mercedes he was leasing. "Did you really?"

"I can't believe you forgot it was your birthday," Arthur said as he and Eames climbed into the sleek silver Mercedes he was leasing. "Did you really?"

Eames shrugged. "I had other things on my mind," he gruffed, and how Arthur had missed his voice. "It didn't seem that important."

"I'll have to make it important, then," Arthur said, grinning, because he never backed down from a challenge.

"You already have," Eames assured him, and he scooted closer, inasmuch as the stick shift between the seats -- because Arthur would never drive an automatic if a manual was available -- would allow him to do so. "Believe me when I say this is the best birthday I've ever had."

Arthur had to focus on his driving, but his hand found its way to resting heavily on Eames' thigh when he wasn't shifting gears, the muscles hard and warm underneath the material of his trousers, and the trip wasn't a terribly long one, thank God.

"Oh, my God, really?" Eames gasped, as Arthur pulled into the drive, punching the button for the garage door. "This is ours?"

Arthur couldn't help smiling. He'd bought the place for both of them, but it was great to hear Eames say it like that. "Ours." As well as noting the sheer wonder in Eames' tone. He hadn't gotten this house in order to impress Eames, but in the hopes of making him happy. And now he had Eames here, and he intended to do anything it took to make him happy.

"I hope it wasn't presumptuous of me," he said, as they got out of the car and he led Eames directly from the garage into the dining area, "But there's only the one bed in the one bedroom. It's a small house."

Eames crowded up against him, arms wrapping around Arthur's chest, hands sliding over his back. "I may need to see this bed, in order to make up my mind as to whether it was presumptuous of you or not," he rumbled against Arthur's lips, his own mouth only an inch away, if that.

Arthur might have snorted, but he had Eames pressed up against him, that lithe young body, and he was finally going to get his hands on the ass that he'd been staring at ever since he'd first brought Eames into his apartment. So instead he leaned forward to claim Eames' mouth with his own, grabbing at his belt lops to tug Eames even more tightly against him.

It was as plush and delicious as he remembered, kissing Eames, and this time no one was blowing _anything_ up to interrupt them. Arthur had made sure of that, many times over, in many different ways before he'd gone to fetch Eames.

Eames' tongue twined around his own, and he strained to get closer to Arthur, making a hungry sound as Arthur's fingers moved downward and closed possessively over the firm swells of his ass, squeezing them through the material of his trousers.

"So I take it we're going to skip the tour of the house for now," Arthur husked against Eames' chin, nipping lightly at the delicate skin through the scanty stubble that Eames was cultivating. "And head straight to the bedroom."

Eames licked his lips, tempting Arthur to kiss him all over again, even though that would delay them further in reaching the room in question, would delay Arthur longer in his intent to get Eames naked.

"I want to see the whole place," Eames said, sounding a little conflicted, a tiny line between his brows. "But I want even more to have you inside me."

"Direct and to the point," Arthur grunted, his dick jumping in his pants, against the hard line of Eames' erection where it was pushing insistently into his crotch. He loved the fact that they were basically the same height, Eames only an inch or two shorter than him. He also loved that Eames had evidently continued his working out, his lean arms and legs still wiry with muscle, with the potential for bulk someday.

"I learned to say what I wanted," Eames said. "After six months of waiting for you to take the hint."

Arthur shook his head, but not in argument. "We've got a lot of time to make up for," he said as he reluctantly disentangled himself. He grasped Eames' hand in his own again and dragged him toward the bedroom. It was a small house, as he had said, so it didn't take them long to get there, both of them shedding their shoes along the way.

As Eames paused a moment to appreciate the bed -- king sized, with burgundy and cream bedcovers, a solid walnut bedframe, and lots of pillows -- Arthur took the opportunity to do what he'd been aching to do ever since he'd first seen Eames' new "look".

"Hey," Eames squawked, as Arthur sank his fingers into Eames' carefully parted and combed hair, and ruffled it into the unruly mess that Arthur remembered and loved. "What the--?!"

"I understand the need to look professional," Arthur told Eames unrepentantly. "But I prefer you like this."

Eames blinked at him, then grinned, flashing the crooked teeth that Arthur found inordinately charming. "What about the stubble?" he asked, reaching up and rubbing at it.

Arthur tilted his head, giving it serious consideration. He was pretty sure that in Eames' mind it was more impressive than it actually looked, but he could see what Eames was trying for.

"I'm not sure about that," he answered honestly, raising his hand and mimicking Eames' move, running his fingers over it, cupping his jaw as he stepped forward and leaned in to press a soft, light kiss against that lush mouth surrounded by the scruff in question.

"Well, I'm not taking the time to shave," Eames said, his mouth curling in a smile, and his fingers were nimble and quick as they worked heir way down the buttons of Arthur's vest.

"Of course not," Arthur agreed, and he set about freeing Eames from his own clothing. "For the record, though, I prefer you in jeans and a sweater. I'm not saying you don't look sharp like this, because you do, but it just doesn't suit you. Not the Eames that I know, anyway."

Eames smiled at him a little sheepishly, didn't take offense as Arthur had half feared he would. "I was just taking a page from your book. Wanted to look professional. But I'm more than happy to take them off."

Arthur stepped back as Eames did what he had said and shrugged out of his shirt then stripped off his trousers. He might have liked to do it himself, but there would be time for that in the future, and as far as he was concerned, the sooner Eames got naked, the better.

Arthur removed his vest, but before he could get to the rest of his clothing, Eames stepped out of his boxers, and Arthur just _had_ to move forward to touch again. There was so much flesh on display, smooth over budding muscles, and those silver-pierced pink nipples were absolutely begging to be toyed with.

Arthur had restrained himself for six months, and then he'd been separated from Eames for another month and a half. Self control could go out the window. He was going to take what he wanted, while feeling completely confident that Eames wanted it just as much as he did.

Eames was grinning at Arthur when he tackled him into the bed, both of them bouncing on the mattress, not at all surprised by this sudden move. His arms came up to twine around Arthur's neck as Arthur sank down to kiss him again, his tongue emerging to eagerly twine with Arthur's.

Arthur would never get his fill of kissing Eames, he was sure, but there were a lot of other things he could be doing with his mouth, as well as other things Eames could do with _his_ mouth as well. He'd once told Arthur he was good at blow jobs, and Arthur intended to find out, as well as making sure that Eames knew he was no slouch himself.

Eames squirmed beneath Arthur, solid and naked and _here_ , his hands working to tug Arthur's shirt loose of his pants, fingers warm and confident as they slid up underneath, over the planes of Arthur's back.

Settling himself firmly between Eames' spread thighs, Arthur slanted their mouths together more closely and ran his tongue over the jagged line of Eames' teeth, lower, then upper. If Eames had been born in America, maybe he'd have gotten braces at some point, but Arthur sort of loved his messed-up teeth. They certainly served to offset the plump luxury of his ruddy lips, and they held their own charms, Eames' front teeth flashing unevenly at Arthur every time he smiled.

"Wanted... so long..." Eames panted against Arthur's lips as he lifted his head away, and he wasn't sure that Eames even knew he was speaking the words aloud, but he could certainly agree with the sentiment.

"I'm sorry for making you wait," he said, levering himself up and over, even though it practically killed him to do so. But he wanted to see Eames, wanted to get a good look at the pierced nipples, his uncut dick, his flat stomach.... Arthur had denied himself this for so long, denied them both, and once they'd finally reached the point that they could have had it, he'd managed to drive Eames away from him.

Well, he had him back now. And he was going to do his best to keep him, even though he would never hold him against his will.

"Promise me," Arthur said again, even as Eames let out a disconsolate sound and rolled with him, arms unwilling to let Arthur loose. "Promise me, please, Eames, that you'll never run away again. You can scream at me, you can shoot me, you can even cut me off from sex and make me sleep on the sofa, but don't leave me again. Whatever happens, we can work things out."

"I promise," Eames said breathlessly, burrowing into Arthur's arms, his face in Arthur's neck, stubble pricking, breath gusting hot and damp. "It was stupid of me to leave, and stupider not to come back. Thank you... thank you for not giving up on me."

"Just don't give up on me," Arthur requested, sinking his fingers into Eames' hair again and making even more of a mess of it. He loved those crazy cowlicks, the same way he loved everything about Eames. Even his touchy teenage emotions. "Whatever I say or do, don't give up on me."

"I won't," Eames replied seriously, and now he moved back, so that he could meet Arthur's eyes. His palm came to rest over Arthur's heart, and he was sure Eames could feel it pounding in his chest, only partially out of arousal. "I didn't. I just... I didn't think you respected me. Now that I know you do...."

"Don't forget that," Arthur said, and maybe it wasn't appropriate to the serious turn their conversation had taken to run the pad of his thumb along Eames' kiss-bruised lips, but he couldn't help himself. "I don't intend to say or do anything dumb in the future, but if I do, just keep in mind that I _do_ respect you and your choices. If I ever treat you like a child, it's only because I worry. But I'll try not to treat you like a child."

"I should hope not," Eames smirked, his eyes going dark and heavy-lidded a moment before he sucked Arthur's thumb handily into his mouth. Arthur shuddered, hard and throbbing against his fly, and it suddenly seemed extremely shortsighted of him not to have taken his own clothing off as well.

Arthur would have smirked back at Eames, but he was busy being breathless, fascinated both by the sight of his thumb vanishing between those lush red lips and the intense, incredibly arousing sensation of Eames nursing on the digit, demonstrating some of the cocksucking skills he had bragged about and obviously possessed.

But Arthur was letting Eames have too much of the upper hand here, Arthur decided, reluctantly dragging his hand free. Not because this was a competition, but because there was so much of Eames' body that Arthur intended to touch and to taste. And he'd barely even gotten started.

"Here," he said, pressing on Eames' shoulder. Eames pouted at him a little with saliva slick lips, but did as directed, lounging back against the mattress and pillows.

"I knew you'd look beautiful on this bed," Arthur murmured, running his fingers down the center of Eames' chest, sliding his palm over the tense muscles of his stomach, skirting the tempting nipples that he wanted to kiss and the proud hard-on that he was aching to fondle. "I bought it with you in mind. And it's _our_ bed, because I used some of the money that you sent me from your first few jobs to pay for half." The memory of that still stung, but, "I couldn't think of any better way to use it, and that makes this bed as much yours as mine."

"I'm kind of glad the flat below ours blew up," Eames told him, resting his head back on one hand, the other beginning to very slowly, teasingly unbutton Arthur's shirt front. He looked and sounded like the best kind of porn. And Arthur hadn't had sexual relations with anyone in far too long. "It was annoying to be interrupted, and I'm sorry I ran away from Cobb's place and avoided you for so long afterward. But it's nice to have a bed that belongs to both of us. It's even better than it would have been to make it into your bed that night, even though that was all I wanted for half a year."

Arthur could have apologized for being so dense for those six months, but it wasn't a bad thing that he had some morals in certain areas. And he hadn't known until Eames had outright stated it that he had actually _meant_ all the flirting he'd been doing for that half a year.

Really, though, they'd hashed all this out already. Unless something new and unexpected came up, they should stop talking about anything other than sex. And they should get going on that whole "having sex" thing.

"Any time apart was wasted time," Arthur said, shifting to sit up and finished unbuttoning himself. "But we're going to make up for it now. Stay there," he instructed firmly, taking off his cufflinks and sliding out of his shirt. He was half afraid Eames would get his back up or disobey, but evidently he didn't mind being told what to do when it was something he wanted, and he lay there, watching avidly as Arthur stood beside the bed and finished undressing.

Arthur was looking at Eames just as lustfully, now that he finally had an unobstructed view. Eames seemed confident in his nudity, though the hand he slid down to cup his hard-on might have been as much to hide it from sight as to pleasure himself.

"Save that for me," Arthur instructed, but not sharply, letting his pants drop around his ankles as his gaze narrowed down to where Eames was sliding his thumb over the tip of his dick, the foreskin slipping down to expose a bit of the blunt, blood-flushed head.

"There's plenty here for you," Eames purred. He sounded like sex, he sounded like sin, and Arthur quickly stripped off his boxers and socks then climbed back onto the bed, as naked as Eames was now. "I'm still a teenage boy, remember."

"I thought I was supposed to forget that part," Arthur murmured. He reached and clasped Eames' hand in his own. But rather than wanking him, or moving his hand aside so that Arthur could clasp Eames' dick instead, Arthur lifted Eames' hand to his face, then sucked Eames' thumb into his mouth, in echo of the way Eames had orally molested his own digit. Only Eames' thumb tasted of pre-ejaculate, and Arthur took a moment to savor that fact.

Eames didn't have anything witty to say in reply, but this might have had something to do with the way his full lips fell open, revealing the jarringly uneven line of his lower teeth, his cheeks heating with a vibrant pink flush, his eyes growing even more steamy than they already had been.

It was nice to know that he could have this much of an effect on Eames with so little effort, Arthur thought. It wasn't as though Eames hadn't verbalized his desire. It wasn't as though Arthur hadn't been able to feel and see the erection Eames was sporting after only a little kissing and frottage. But this was something deeper, something uncontrolled, something completely physical. And it turned him on to see how much he was turning Eames on.

Eames pulled his hand free and surged upward, practically attacking Arthur's mouth with his own, finesse flown, and Arthur welcomed him with ready arms.

"I have a question for you," he said, as soon as he could manage to speak. Eames was slotted between his legs, against his torso, as though he belonged there, and the heated slide of their shafts side by side between them was so incredibly hot, but it wasn't what Arthur wanted. He wanted to lay Eames down and touch him, to explore how much pleasure those pierced nipples could give Eames, wanted to get that throbbing, uncut dick in his mouth.

"What?" Eames asked breathlessly, undulating against Arthur, and he wasn't exactly on top of him, but it was a near thing, and Arthur reveled in his solid weight and the heat of his body, the smoothness of the skin rubbing all up against his own.

"You don't have to answer," Arthur qualified, running a hand down the sweeping curve of Eames' back to grab at one of his ass cheeks, fingers flexing on the firm swell. "But I wanted to ask whether or not you're a virgin."

He had his own suspicions as to the answer, but he was hoping to get it from Eames' own lips.

"I... well, yeah, technically," Eames replied, casting his eyes down and hiding behind those long lashes, his cheeks burning a brighter shade of pink. "I mean, I've gotten off in company. But I haven't fucked anyone.... Or been fucked."

Arthur was a little surprised by his visceral response to this bold declaration, his dick jerking against Eames', his hand tightening momentarily over the ass cheek under his palm. It shouldn't have made such a difference. He thought that he wouldn't have been upset if Eames hadn't been a virgin. But to know that he _was_ , that Arthur would be the first one introducing him to that particular pleasure.... Not that they needed to jump straight to penetration for the their first sexual encounter, but that was sort of what Arthur'd had in mind.

"Let me tell you a secret," Eames murmured, leaning in toward Arthur and pressing their faces together, their cheekbones hard against one another, Eames' breath rushing hot and wet over Arthur's ear, causing his skin to gooseflesh and his dick to jump again. "Sometimes when I thought of you, on the nights when I wasn't too depressed or angry, I'd think back to the last thing you told me to do that I _wanted_ to do, and I fingered myself, stretching myself. Getting myself ready while I got off, even though I didn't know whether I'd ever see you again."

Of anything Arthur might have been expecting Eames' _"secret"_ to be, it never would have been anything like this. And he certainly wouldn't have expected his directive from before he had left Cobb's to go in search of vengeance to stick like that. Not after what had driven them apart.

He rolled them both, until Eames was on his back in the quilted comforter, propping himself over him and grinning ferally down into that beautiful face. "Are you trying to give me another hint?"

Eames huffed out a little chuckle, his knees rising, his hips grinding up into the pressure of Arthur's body. He reached a hand, threading his fingers through Arthur's hair, the other hand spread over Arthur's shoulderblades. "Well, if I'm going to have to spell everything out for you...."

"I just like to hear you talk dirty," Arthur replied honestly, twisting his hips in a tight little circle over Eames'.

"Oh," Eames gasped, that sensual mouth falling open in a tempting shape to match the utterance he'd just given vent to. Then his lips curved up into a wide, wicked grin, his eyes gleaming. "That, I can do, darling."

"Then tell me what you want," Arthur instructed, and it was hard to lever himself up off of Eames, but he hadn't gotten to touch those delicious pierced nipples since that disastrous, abortive evening in the old apartment that had been interrupted by explosives.

"I thought I already did," Eames rumbled, languidly stretching out, putting on a show even as Arthur slid away from him, though he didn't intend to go far. "I told you that I want you inside me. That wasn't a metaphor or hyperbole. I meant it literally. I want your cock in my arse, and I want you to fuck me until I'm sore, and then once we've recovered enough that we can get it up, I want you to do it all over again."

"Well," Arthur said breathlessly, knowing that he was grinning widely enough to flash his dimples. "I'll have to see what I can do about getting that done for you."

"Only if you want to," Eames purred, twisting his torso so that his silver rings gleamed in the warm golden overhead lights Arthur had installed in the bedroom. "No pressure."

"Can't think of anything I'd like more," Arthur said, hardly even aware of what he was saying as he ran his gaze over that magnificent young body laid out before him like a buffet, like the best gift he had ever gotten in his life.

And where would they both be if he hadn't gone down to the apartment beneath his and invited Eames to come and stay in his guest room, he pondered momentarily. It didn't bear thinking on, and so he dismissed the thought from his mind. Arthur was the kind of person who liked to make contingency plans for the future utilizing all available information, but he had no time to waste on might-have-beens.

Arthur had been patient enough, he thought. Eames was wriggling on his bed -- no, _their_ bed -- literally begging to be ravished. And Arthur had been delayed in doing so for nearly a month and a half, completely discounting the six months before that, when he had been most effectively cockblocking himself.

Shifting slightly, he bent over Eames and gave him a wet, warm kiss on the mouth, but he didn't linger, even when Eames reached for him with grasping hands. Instead, he clasped one of Eames' wrists, feeling his pulse pounding through the delicate tendons and thin flesh, then pressed his hand back into the mattress.

"Hold still for a moment," he said, and maybe it wasn't right to be giving a barely seventeen year old virgin orders during foreplay, but Eames had asked for this, and Arthur was only doing so in pursuit of further pleasure for them both. At any rate, Eames melted willingly enough back into the mattress and plush bedcovers, and the look he sent up at Arthur appeared to be mingled affection and adoration, to the point that it almost made Arthur uncomfortable to be the recipient of so much worship.

Especially when he ought to be the one worshiping Eames. That tight young body. His fat red lips and messy hair. The delicious plump dick jutting up from a surprisingly generous thatch of curly hairs. But first and foremost, Arthur's attention was captured and held by the silver rings piercing those two perky pink nipples.

Arthur had only been with one person before who'd had a piercing lower than their ears, and that had been the impress and exotic Prince Albert that a certain chemist from Illinois, of all places, had sported. Arthur had been a bit intimidated, to be honest, and hadn't dared to handle it much, despite having permission to do so. And, besides, they'd only spent two nights together before Arthur had been called away abruptly to bail Cobb out of some trouble or other.

This was different. This was _Eames_. And these were piercings that Arthur had been essentially obsessing over since the moment he had first become aware of their existence.

There were also the tattoos, marking Eames' upper torso and arms with their dark lines. Most were black lines, very little color, and they were remarkably tasteful for what they were, Arthur thought. At least they weren't garish, and they all matched fairly well even though they weren't symmetrical or all by the same artist.

"Someday you should tell me about these," he murmured, trailing his fingers over them, watching Eames shiver and try to disguise it by shifting restlessly on the mattress. Eames had reached down to grab his dick again, but he wasn't rubbing it, was only holding on, pressing it up against his lower belly, fingertips prodding at his balls, so Arthur let him get away with it.

"Not now, though," Eames husked, and Arthur nodded.

"Later." He gave in to temptation, finally, and traced his fingertip down from the tattoos to one of those mesmerizing nipples. It was hard to tell for sure, since they had the gleaming silver rings strung through them, but Arthur thought that they looked quite a bit more perky than his own were. They were definitely more pink than his, almost as rosy as a woman's.

They crested the slight swells of Eames' pectorals. He'd obviously been keeping up his weight lifting, the muscles developing nicely. Arthur circled around the edge of the areola with one fingertip, smiling at the shudder that Eames couldn't restrain, then brought his other hand into play, thumbing at both of them at once, feeling the rings shift under the pads of his thumbs.

"Such... such a tease," Eames ground out, glaring up at him with heavy-lidded eyes that were hot with desire. There was a faint dewing of sweat darkening his hairline, and the flush was working its way down from his cheeks to his neck and the top of his chest. "You can pull 'em harder."

"Hang in there," Arthur instructed, smirking. "I'll get to it."

Eames writhed, letting out a whine that sounded more involuntary than anything else as Arthur plucked at his nipples a little more solidly. Arthur shifted to combing his fingers through the scant hair on Eames' chest, mostly concentrated between his pectorals, but spreading over the rest of his torso. There was a thin trail leading down from his navel too, but Arthur hadn't worked his way down there yet.

Eames was holding on to his dick tightly, and Arthur almost felt bad, but he was also arching into Arthur's manipulation of his nipples, letting out soft little sounds of pleasure and encouragement. Arthur grinned sharply and pinched the rings, twisting them slightly.

"Yeah," Eames gasped out, pushing his chest toward Arthur, and he gave them an even crueler tweak. He would have felt guilty for this, if it hadn't been for the way Eames yelped and twisted _into_ the assault, not away from it. Vaguely he wondered how young Eames had been when he'd gotten these piercings, since they were obviously long-healed, and _why_ he had gotten them... but these facts weren't truly important. What was important was the way that Eames was wriggling before him, the inarticulate sounds of arousal that he was letting out, and, as Arthur glanced down, the way his dick was beginning to copiously leak all over his own fingers and belly.

This sight had Arthur's mouth watering, literally, but he wasn't there yet. Before he dipped below the waist, he had some other tasting to do, of the tender flesh he'd been tormenting with his hands alone.

"Arthur," Eames rumbled, and the familiar way his husky voice curled around the syllables of Arthur's name was even more sexy when he was this turned on, this breathless.

"Just from a bit of nipple play," Arthur murmured, but he said it fondly, not mockingly. Before Eames could react, poorly or well, Arthur bent, dipping his head, and sinking his teeth into Eames' pectoral muscle, not touching the piercing yet, just gently biting all around it and hanging on a moment.

Eames stiffened and gasped, his free hand flying up to grab at Arthur's head, clinging to the nape of his neck as he shook beneath Arthur. Before letting loose with his teeth, Arthur used the tip of his tongue to track around the nipple much as he'd done with his fingertip a few moments ago, then he relented and released his bite, using his lips and then a broad sweep with the flat of his tongue to sooth the stimulated flesh.

"Arthur," Eames drawled out, sounding even more like raw sex. His hand was tight at the back of Arthur's skull, but he barely felt it, focused as he was on the nipple he was holding captive. He toyed easily with the other nipple, using nimble fingers, but most of his attention -- and Eames' as well, he surmised -- was focused on the one he was now lightly sucking at.

Eames whined again, squirming on the bed, probably dangerously close to overstimulation. Arthur lashed at the silver ring with his tongue, rolling it around for a moment, tugging with his teeth, before finally turning it loose and rearing up to smile down at Eames with lips that felt red and swollen. Not as red and swollen as Eames' nipples, though, he thought as he surveyed his handiwork with a certain amount of smug self-satisfaction.

"All right?" he asked wickedly, still plucking at Eames' other piercing. Eames was gasping for breath, his face a warm pink, cheeks and neck shining with a faint sheen of perspiration. It was nice to see all his effort paying off, Arthur thought, as though it hadn't given him just as much pleasure to play with the silver rings and the pink peaks they perforated as Eames had evidently gotten out of it.

"Mm, better than." And if Arthur had expected to have rendered Eames speechless, he was obviously going to have to try harder.

Well, he had no problem with that. Giving Eames' nipple one last pinch, Arthur decided it was time to turn his attention downward after all. It wasn't so much that he was impatient. It was more than he was beginning to think from the restless way Eames' hips were moving that his partner wasn't going to last much longer.

"How's your refractory period, generally speaking?" he asked, shifting on the mattress so that he'd have a better angle to get at Eames' dick. Before he lowered his head, though, he looked up to meet Eames' gaze, taking in the way his brow creased in a confused frown.

"Huh?"

Oh, great, _now_ Eames was without words.

"Once you've come, how quickly do you get it up again?" Arthur asked in plainer words.

Eames blinked, then scowled a little. "I know what refractory means," he grumped. "I just couldn't figure out why you were asking."

"Really?" Arthur quirked a brow.

Eames flushed more brightly. "It's... pretty good," he mumbled, clearly reluctant but willing to indulge Arthur's curiosity. Well, it wasn't as though he wasn't going to benefit from giving an honest answer. "When I'm really turned on I can get hard again pretty quick, even though it takes longer to come the second time. And I'm... I don't think I've ever been this turned on before."

Arthur smirked, and reached down to take Eames' throbbing dick out of his hand. "That's perfect," he growled, feeling the skin silken and hot over heated hardness, the leaking pre-ejaculate that had gotten all over it, making it slick, making it easier for Arthur to run his fingers up and down the shaft.

Eames groaned, a deep sound wrenched out of the center of his chest, and bowed up into the stimulation. But Arthur was only getting started.

Placing his free hand on Eames' hip, Arthur bent and pressed his lips to the head of Eames' dick. More pre-ejaculate blurted out, and Arthur licked it away, then allowed his mouth to linger there, tongue teasing at the slit as he used his thumb and forefinger to drag the foreskin down to expose more of the head. Arthur hadn't slept with many men who hadn't been circumcised, but when he had, he'd thoroughly enjoyed it, and Eames was no exception. In fact, he thought he enjoyed Eames' dick more than any other he'd ever handled, including his own.

Well, not that Arthur had slept with a _lot_ of men, or women for that matter. Having sex with someone indicated a certain level of trust in them, and Arthur didn't feel a lot of trust toward a lot of people. He'd gotten enough experience, though, to know that he could make this good for Eames, for both of them.

And not just the blow job, though he thought that he was pretty good at that.

Eames was heaving for breath already, even as Arthur took the entire head of his dick in his mouth, holding it there a moment before he began applying light suction. He worked his hand over the shaft, and then he shifted and moved to smoothly take most of Eames' erection into his mouth. Eames had a good sized dick for his age, thick and growing ever thicker as he came closer to climax, and Arthur was a little out of practice at deepthroating, so he didn't try to go too far down, letting his hand take up the slack.

"Oh, God," Eames managed to get out, the words mangled, his chest with its pointed pink nipples heaving as he clutched at the bedspread, Arthur's head, his own thighs, which were tight and tense to either side of Arthur's face. "God, oh God...."

After that it devolved into nothing but a great deal of heavy panting and the occasional garbled cry, but Arthur had set to really sucking on Eames' dick, working his lips down as far as they would go, fisting the rest of it tightly, letting Eames work his hips up and down, shifting the hard erection in his mouth; against the flat of his tongue one moment, the blunt head rubbing against the roof of his mouth the next. And just when he was really getting into it, before he had expected, Eames was coming with a strangled cry.

Arthur did his best to swallow what Eames spilled over his tongue, but it was rather a copious amount, and some ended up running over his lower lip and down his chin. Either Eames hadn't gotten himself off in a while, Arthur thought with a fair amount of dazed satisfaction, or it was just because he was still a teenager.

He paused, cleaning off the sides of Eames' dick, then straightening and wiping his chin with the back of his hand. He could see the mingled semen and saliva gleaming on the shaft of Eames' dick, and his sense of satisfaction swelled in his chest, filling him with warmth and further arousal. His own dick was straining hard and aching between his thighs, ready for some action of its own.

Not yet, though, Arthur informed his willful member. Eventually the plan was to bury himself balls deep in Eames' fine, firm ass. But they weren't there yet, and he wasn't going to risk rushing things just because he was unbearably horny after blowing Eames. He wasn't seventeen and his own refractory period wasn't negligible.

Eames was trembling now, and Arthur moved up to fold him in his arms again, holding him close. "That was... you were... that..." Eames mumbled into Arthur's throat, clinging tightly to him, and it occurred to Arthur to wonder if that had been Eames' first blowjob. He'd said he'd gotten off in company before, but that could have consisted of handjobs or maybe some frottage. Eames had implied that he was good at _giving_ head, but had he ever gotten it in return?

Well, maybe he had but they weren't as good at it as Arthur, he mused with a certain amount of smugness. That was definitely another possibility.

"You okay?" he asked, running his hand in heavy, hopefully soothing spirals over Eames' back. Eames was hot and damp with sweat, most of his muscles relaxed in his afterglow even though he was still clutching at Arthur pretty tightly.

"Mm," Eames hummed dreamily, rubbing his cheek against Arthur's collarbone. His stubble prickled, and Arthur made a mental note to make sure Eames shaved before the next time they had sex. The next time _after_ he had gotten off himself, that was.

"Are you sure that you want to go all the way to penetration your first time?" Arthur asked, now that Eames was replete and resting in his embrace. He was still keyed up himself, his dick throbbing in time with his heartbeat, but this was kind of important to talk about. And he wanted to make sure that Eames was _sure_. "We don't have to."

"I want to," Eames protested, rousing enough to lift his head and meet Arthur's gaze, his own fierce and intense, where a moment before he'd been foggy with sex and orgasm. "I want all the other things too, want to suck you down my throat until you come, want to rub off on each other, want to do everything in every way.... But I've been gagging for this since, well, honestly since the first time I saw you smile and since the first time I realized what you were packing in those sinfully fitted trousers of yours."

Arthur was a bit taken aback, but not in a bad way. As he simply stared at Eames in the face of this sensual recitation, Eames continued.

"If... if you want me to suck you off, and then you want to screw me later, that's okay." The way he bit at his lower lip made it clear that it wasn't really okay, though it did send a hot coil of arousal hooking at Arthur's groin. "But I was kind of hoping...."

"No, I'm fine with penetration," Arthur hastened to assure him. And, in fact, since that wasn't anything close to accurate, "I _want_ to get inside of you, soon as possible. I just wanted to be sure that you were ready for it."

Eames nodded fervently, his hair flopping around his sweat-dewed temples. He really needed the last of the product washed out, Arthur thought. As did he. But showering could wait until after they'd fucked. He intended to _wreck_ Eames, and afterward, they were _both_ going to need some serious sluicing off.

Arthur smiled and trailed his fingers fondly through Eames' hair. Yes, he still had some of Eames' come on his hand, but it wasn't as though it wouldn't mingle with the gel that Eames had obviously used to try to tame his wild cowlicks.

"Eames, you trust me, right?"

Eames' eyes widened, but he didn't look suspicious or apprehensive, not in the slightest.

"I do," he replied, and something inside Arthur clenched so hard that he almost thought he'd weep. But he was too turned on for that, and he had another question to ask.

"Thank you," he said simply, leaning forward to kiss Eames on the mouth. He meant it to be a quick, light press of lips to lips, but then Eames let out a hungry noise and began licking the last traces of his own come off of Arthur's mouth and chin.

After a moment, though, Arthur pushed him gently away. He wasn't done yet, had barely even gotten started, and there was a fine young ass he wanted to get inside before too much more time had passed.

"Thank you," he said again, and he meant it. "I trust you too, Eames. That's why I'm going to ask you this question."

Eames arched his brows, and Arthur experienced the desire to kiss the small scar that bisected the outside corner of Eames' right eyebrow, but he'd already distracted them both too much already,

"As away," Eames said, and his tone was light but his eyes were dark and intense.

"You told me that you've never had penetrative sex."

"Until today," Eames pointed out, falling back from Arthur and extending his lean limbs in a shivery stretch. His broad smirk made it clear that he was putting on a show, and Arthur was glad to see that Eames had calmed enough that he didn't feel the need to cling to him any longer.

"Exactly," he said, running his hand down the center of Eames' chest, then palming his stomach. He didn't touch anything more sensitive, even though Eames' nipples were still hard and stiff, his dick still at half mast, so to speak, even though he'd come. He didn't want to divert Eames' attention while he discussed a very serious matter. "Now here's my question. I've had sex. I've always used protection and I get tested annually. To the best of my knowledge, I'm completely and one hundred percent clean. You should be too. So how do you feel about forgoing the prophylactics?"

"Prophy... what?"

"Condoms," Arthur said, grinning a little. Eames wasn't unintelligent, of course, but sometimes Arthur stumbled across odd little gaps in his vocabulary. Or the words that meant something else in England, that Eames hadn't adjusted to yet even though he'd been living in the States for years.

Eames' eyes had gone heavy and steamy and his cheeks were flushed again, his dick twitching where it rested against one tight thigh.

"In our case, I think the only thing a condom would accomplish would be to save on a mess," Arthur added when Eames didn't jump right in an reply. "And since it's your ass on the line...."

Eames let out a low chuckle that went straight to Arthur's erection, as though it wasn't already as hard and ready as it was going to be.

"What man alive would deny another man a fuck without a rubber?" Eames wondered, lifting himself up and grabbing at Arthur's disordered hair, kissing him quickly and messily. Then he reached down, his clever fingers closing around the hard-on that was jutting up at him, and Arthur couldn't hold in the explosion of air that burst out of him. "Especially when there's no reason to use one?"

Arthur might have pointed out that it would save potential spillage on the sheets, that it was liable to increase his odds of lasting longer once he got inside of Eames, but Eames had an excellent point, and he had fallen in with Arthur's plan with remarkable speed and eagerness. So who was Arthur to play devil's advocate when the plan had been his own to begin with?

"And, of course, I'll return the favor when it's your turn," he growled, closing his hand over Eames' on his dick, surging forward to kiss his open mouth.

"Does-- Does that mean--?" Eames choked out, his eyes round and wide, his lips still curved in a startled "o" shape.

"What?" Arthur grinned wickedly at Eames, lacing their fingers together over the aching throb of his shaft, squeezing with pressure that only made if ache more. "Did you think I wasn't going to let you have the fun of topping from time to time?"

Arthur was pretty sure that Eames used at least one of the moves he'd taught him in order to get him tumbled on his back in the mattress, and he wasn't holding onto Arthur's dick anymore, but he _was_ kissing him breathless.

"Oh, sure, you just don't want to have to do all the work all the time," Eames growled against his tingling lips, nipping at Arthur's chin in another move that Arthur recognized as being learned from him. "Lazy."

"Hey, who's the one planning on plowing you until you can't walk, right now?" Arthur asked on the back of a laugh, reaching down and grabbing at Eames' taut ass cheeks. "Don't you call me lazy!"

Instead of replying, Eames kissed him again, and they spent several moments like this, tongues moving slow and slick against each other, Eames tracing the curves of Arthur's lips, Arthur relearning the uneven line of Eames' teeth.

"I am immensely flattered that you're willing to let me anywhere near your gorgeous arse," Eames rumbled against Arthur's mouth, his hips shifting rhythmically against Arthur's, his dick already hard again and getting harder. "You've no idea how many times I've dreamt about it. But right now I'm not going to be satisfied until I get your amazing cock inside my own arse."

"Careful," Arthur warned breathlessly. "All these compliments are going to go straight to my head."

"But which head?" Eames asked impishly, grinning down at him. "Anyway, I mean every word. Why shouldn't I let you know how wonderful I think you are." His cheeks were pink as he said this, and he added, "When you're not being a stick-in-the-mud arsehole, that is."

Arthur laughed, though it was as much in attempt to clear the lump in his throat as it was in amusement. They'd been apart for about a month and a half, but it had seemed like so much longer. It had seemed a lifetime. Still, they were back together now, and maybe it was important that they leach let the other know how they felt.

In which case, it was definitely Arthur's turn.

"I think _you_ are amazing," Arthur told Eames, rolling them both over so that he was grinding that supple young body into the mattress. "And not just your dick and your ass. You're smart, and also intelligent. You're inventive and talented. You're stubborn but also flexible, and you're incredibly mature when you're not being emotional."

Eames chuckled, and from the watery sound of it, he was having the same difficulty Arthur'd had in the face of a barrage of compliments.

"Just fuck me already," Eames directed, heaving his pelvis upward, making Arthur aware that his erection was caught between their hard bellies. And since Eames' face was a bright red that had very little to do with sex in the moment, Arthur took pity on him.

Besides which, Arthur couldn't wait much longer to get his hard-on in the fine young ass being freely offered.

Of course, despite Eames' bold declarations of having been fingering himself from time to time, Arthur wasn't going to rush into anything. He was going to make this as perfect an experience for Eames as he could manage. And if anyone had a shot at attaining perfection, it was Arthur. He would settle for less, of course. But he wouldn't stoop to _trying_ for less.

Arthur gave brief consideration to pulling the bedcovers back -- they were still wallowing together on top of the comforter -- but then one of them might end up in a wet spot when it was time for sleep, and besides, by this point Arthur was too impatient to do anything that might delay them that much. Never mind that the sheets would be easier to launder than the comforter. If he had to, Arthur could just pull the soiled comforter off the bed and pile on a couple more blankets in its place. He'd purchased a lot of linens for the bed, with Eames' hoped for return in mind.

And Eames _had_ returned, and here they were, taking up where they'd left off before the apartment under theirs had exploded... and then some.

Arthur made a long arm, reaching for the lube that he had stashed under a pillow in order to keep it close at hand. He'd considered getting a bedframe with shelving, but had ended up getting one with an ornate headboard instead, with a mental image of Eames clinging to it, perhaps bound spread-eagle with soft silk scarves.... Once they'd become more used to one another, that was. Once Eames was more comfortable with sex. He'd already indicated an awe-inspiring amount of trust in Arthur, but there were steps to take in order to build up to these things.

In the meantime, Arthur had made sure to get a pillowcase with a pocket, so he knew exactly where and how to get his hand on the lubricant. His dick was jumping eagerly, where it was mashed against Eames' firm belly, but Arthur wasn't going to deal with that yet. There was something far more important to do first; that was to prepare Eames' ass for the ultimate intrusion.

"Do you want to roll over?" he asked, reluctantly lifting himself up off of Eames. "Or just lift your legs?"

Eames nibbled at his red lower lip and Arthur experienced the overwhelming urge to kiss the ever so faintly trepidatious expression on his young face away... but instead he simply waited patiently for Eames' reply.

"Do you mean for fucking?" Eames husked, his brow wrinkling in a small frown. "Or...."

"Just the fingering for now," Arthur said, feeling his cheeks heat even though he managed to speak the words in a calm, conversational tone.

"Oh." Eames let the sound out on a small exhale, then gave Arthur a somehow shy, incredibly adorable little smile, his own cheeks heated. "Well, then."

And without further ado, he lifted his legs, grasping himself behind the knees in order to keep them aloft for Arthur.

"Mm. Good boy," Arthur purred, even though he didn't want to talk down to Eames, even though he didn't think Eames had a daddy-kink -- or, if he did, Arthur didn't want to know about it -- and he pressed a warm kiss to the inside of one of Eames' thighs, eliciting a ticklish giggle, before pouring a generous amount of lube into his palm.

"Wanker," Eames rejoined, pulling a face at Arthur, but he clearly didn't mean it.

This probably wasn't the best angle for this, Arthur thought absently as he did his best to warm the lube while coating the fingers of his other hand. But then, if Eames had been on his stomach, the plumpness of the comforter would have worked against them both. The thought of Eames on hands and knees before him flashed through his mind, and it was a compelling image, but Arthur wanted Eames to be as comfortable as possible right now, and he was already displaying enough vulnerability as it was, with his legs in the air and his most private parts wide open for Arthur.

Mentally rolling his eyes at himself for his flowery thoughts, Arthur reached down and stroked Eames' renewed erection a few times, working it with lube-slick fingers, enjoying the feeling of it hard and hot in his hand.

"That's not--" Eames started, but Arthur hushed him.

"I'll get you there," he promised again, smiling at Eames and bending to kiss the tip of his dick again. This time, though, he didn't go down on him. Instead, he ran his hand down and fondled Eames' balls a little, getting them good and greased up for no reason other than that he could. He'd have been more amused than aroused, if it hadn't been for the throaty groan that Eames let out, his head tipping back into the pillows, his knuckles white where he was holding his trembling legs up.

Arthur didn't linger there too long. His own hard-on was aching, reminding him that as much fun as playing with Eames was, he'd been waiting far too long without much stimulation of his own, other than mental, and he was within minutes of being where he desperately wanted to be.

Re-anointing his fingers, he rubbed at Eames' perineum, working the lube in and listening to Eames' breath catch at the unexpected external stimulation of his prostrate. Arthur wasn't an expert at this, but he knew what felt good on him, and he wasn't shy about sharing this experience with Eames.

But they were both far too impatient for much of this, and so Arthur quickly slid his fingers down further, into the crease between Eames' muscular ass cheeks. He made sure that it was slick and slippery down there before he even ran his fingertips lightly over the little pucker hidden away between the swells.

Eames sucked in other gulp of air and tensed up all over. Arthur didn't bother telling him to relax, when he could feel Eames forcing himself to loosen up a moment later, but he did rub soothingly at Eames' thigh with his knuckles, still streaking lube over the soft skin there, though he was doing his best not to make a mess. Yet. It was virtually impossible to have good sex without making a mess, of course, but Arthur was going to do his best not to destroy the bed they hadn't even gotten to sleep in yet.

Of course, having sex on the bed was just as important as sleeping in it. And so once Eames opened his eyes and shot an almost angry glare up at Arthur and gruffed, "Get on with it, then," Arthur just grinned and did as instructed.

He wanted to be careful with Eames, but neither of them was in the mood for more teasing, and Eames was as ready for this as he was ever going to be. He had command over his body for the most part, and Arthur was impressed with the way that Eames did his best to relax into the mattress and loosen up for Arthur as he pressed his well-lubricated fingers into the tight fit of Eames' anus. His thighs were trembling and his hands were virtually bloodless where he was clutching at his legs, holding them up, and so Arthur decided to speed things up a little.

Restraint and self control were good qualities to possess and exercise, it was true, but not during sex. Not when they'd reached the point of actual penetration, albeit it with fingers only so far.

And it _was_ fingers. Taking Eames at his word, and confident in how thickly he'd plastered on the lube, Arthur had gone right to two fingers rather than one. And Eames was tight, but he didn't express any discomfort, instead tipping his hips upward in explicit invitation.

He was silent because he had his lower lip caught between his teeth again, his eyes closed and his brow creased. Arthur watched him carefully as he added more lube and another finger, but it seemed more as though Eames was concentrating on the sensations, not struggling with discomfort. He must be feeling the stretch a little, but if he _had_ been fingering himself on and off as he had claimed, then this wouldn't be a completely new feeling for him....

"S'different when you do it," Eames said softly, his lashes flickering as he slitted his eyes open and glanced down at Arthur. Arthur had been watching his fingers disappearing into Eames' body, the rosy tightness squeezing them together almost painfully, giving incrementally as Arthur worked them in and out, but now he looked up to meet Eames' gaze. "A lot different."

Arthur grinned and kissed Eames' knee again. "Of course it is," he murmured, sliding his fingers in as deeply as they would go, and twisting them a little. "That's sort of the whole point of sex as opposed to masturbation."

"You should stop talking like a textbook while we're fucking," Eames growled, but Arthur thought he looked more affectionate than anything else.

"All right," Arthur replied easily. "Are you ready for me to put my dick in your tight little ass yet?"

Eames nodded instead of rolling his eyes, as Arthur had half expected even though he had asked and intended the question seriously. He let out a disconsolate noise as Arthur slid his fingers free of his hole, and Arthur knew what that sudden emptiness felt like, but they weren't going to be able to proceed unless he had his hands free, at least for a few moments.

"Do you want to roll over?" he asked, and when Eames shook his head, he gently grasped one of Eames' legs. "You can let go," he instructed, and when Eames peeled his fingers away, he hooked Eames' knee over his shoulder. This wasn't the least awkward position to have sex in, but if Eames wanted to do it face to face, Arthur could hardly begrudge him this.

He had to admit that it was preferable as far as he was concerned as well. Being able to see the expression on Eames' face as he filled him up, as he began to thrust....

But why was he imagining this when he was mere moments away from experiencing it? With an internal huff of exasperation at himself, Arthur squirted more lube into his palm, slapping it generously onto his dick without bothering to try to warm it a little first. It wasn't cold, per se, but his hard-on was so hot that even room temperature liquid was a bit of a shock. He didn't flag in the slightest, though, and as he jerked himself briskly, making sure his stiff dick was well slicked, it quickly warmed to match the body-hot pre-ejaculate trickling from the tip. Arthur didn't leak as copiously as Eames seemed to do, but he had been holding off a long time, and he was ready to take and _do_ something with his erection, other than ignoring it.

"Come on, come on," Eames was practically chanting, and Arthur had to wonder, once again, if he even knew what he was saying. "Fuck me."

Well, whether he was aware or not, that was sexy as hell, and Arthur could certainly take direction when it was something that he wanted so badly to do. He knuckled at Eames' tight hole a little, with his lube slick hand, then shifted closer, guiding his dripping dick to press up against the gleaming ring of muscle that he'd been working to loosen up.

He'd succeeded inasmuch as he was able to punch inside without undue discomfort for himself or for Eames, but Eames immediately tightened up around him, and Arthur stopped where he was. He didn't think Eames was in pain, but his forehead was furrowed and his eyes squeezed tightly, his free hand grabbing at the bedspread underneath him as he hunched inward toward the penetration. Arthur knew that he was trying to parse what his body was telling him, overwhelmed with this brand new experience, because having a rather generously sized dick -- all modesty aside, Arthur knew he was well hung -- in where only fingers had been before... well, it was completely different, as Eames had said.

"Just relax if you can," he soothed, not sure Eames was even hearing him. The fact that he'd stopped moving, just the head of his dick inside Eames' clenching sphincter, probably meant more to Eames in this moment, but Arthur had to do what he could. "Let your body get used to it."

It was possible, even probable that it hurt at least a little. But then Eames pried his eyes open and stared at Arthur, dazed but alert, his cheeks burning, sweat beginning to trickle down his temples, and his lips bitten red and puffy. "Come on, move!" he demanded, his voice hoarse but steady. He obviously knew what he was saying, and just as clearly meant it. "F-fucking put it in me!"

Arthur had a lot of self control, but he'd have to have been less of a man and more made of ice in order to deny this command. And he was not made of ice, and he'd been exerting a lot of restraint up to now.

Surging forward, he shoved the rest of his dick into Eames, moving smoothly in all the lube he'd used on them both, and if it wrecked the comforter it was so worth it. Eames let out a choked little cry, but he was bowing up into the penetration, not unmoved by it, but definitely not trying to escape it.

"Ah, God!" he managed to get out, before dissolving into incoherent noises. Arthur might have made another attempt at soothing him, but he was sunk as deeply into Eames' tight ass as he could get, and it was at least as incredible as he had anticipated, plus being a million times better because it was _Eames_ and because he knew Eames wanted this as much as he did.

And, he had to admit in a moment of clarity that broke through the sensual haze of sexual desire that was overwhelming his mind, it was also partially the fact that he knew no one else had even been here, that he was Eames' _first_. He hadn't expected that it affect him so strongly, but as he claimed Eames as his own, grasping at the boy and tugging him as close as he could manage in their awkward position, he knew that the fact had become a large part of what was driving him during this tryst.

He had to make this good for Eames, he told himself vigorously, remaining still where he was, letting Eames clench around him, allowing his virgin ass to get used to the intrusion. Because as much as his entire body was tingling, heat and arousal filling him from his fingertips to his toes, his hard dick pulsing where it was sunk deeply in Eames' tight hole, Arthur knew that this was about giving Eames pleasure, not just taking it for himself.

Of course, the fact that fucking Eames was going to bring him just as much pleasure as it was going to give Eames was convenient as all hell. But he wasn't going to rush things and risk doing Eames any damage.

"Move, come on, dammit, _move_ ," Eames was panting in Arthur's ear, and Arthur could feel Eames' hand bumping against his tense stomach as the boy tugged furiously at his own dick, where it was still erect and leaking between them.

That was all the permission Arthur needed. With Eames' words ringing in his ear as unsubtle encouragement, Arthur made sure his knees had the proper traction on the mattress, and he slid his dick out in a smooth move that had Eames throwing his head back again and groaning loudly. Arthur would never get tired of playing Eames like an instrument, finding out what actions called up which sounds, he thought with a tight grin. But right now he was more concerned with _getting them both off_. They'd both waited long enough, and the fact that Eames had already come once, inside Arthur's mouth, didn't signify.

The head of Arthur's dick was still inside the fiercely burning heat and tightness of Eames' ass, and after pausing a moment, he shoved back inside, careful and smooth but without hesitation or pause.

Eames cried out, shoving into the demanding push of Arthur's dick as much as his poor leverage would let him. Arthur made it a point to give Eames several more long, teasing strokes, just to make sure that he was open and receptive, no longer painfully tight. Once he was assured of this, Arthur shifted them so that both of Eames' legs were slung over his shoulders, then grabbing at Eames' own shoulders with both hands in order to hold him still as he set about a far more shallow but much more satisfying series of thrusts into and against Eames' ass.

Despite the fact that he was nearly folded in half, Eames managed to make his enthusiasm clear, and he still had a hand on his dick, yanking unmercifully at it as Arthur gave him the vigorous fucking he'd been begging for all this time.

The sounds Eames was making were exquisite, dragged out of him by overwhelming pleasure, Arthur knew, instead of simply uttered to titillate. He wasn't exactly silent himself, though he was really only focused on the place where he and Eames came together, and in trying to keep his breathing controlled enough that he survived this whole encounter. Okay, slight exaggeration, but Arthur didn't think he'd ever had a sexual encounter this intense, not even his own first time.

Eames was close, Arthur could tell; from the strangled moans breaking free of his throat, from the flush coloring his entire face, neck, and chest, from the way he was writhing unconsciously beneath Arthur, and the near-violence with which he was jerking on his own hard cock. Arthur was doing his best to both hold onto the wriggling boy in his arms and continue fucking steadily into him, and he almost missed the moment when Eames cried out, stiffened, and arched against him, his heels digging hard into Arthur's shoulderblades, copious heated liquid suddenly breaking between them, squirting over the tense muscles of Arthur's stomach.

Eames' ass clamped tight around Arthur's driving dick, and he probably should have stopped for a moment to let Eames work through the intensity of his climax, but instead he fucked him through it, unable to stop himself, and within a handful of thrusts he was coming as well, uttering his own strangled shout, his hands clenching on Eames' shoulders with a tightness that had to be painful, his entire body tightening into a possessive coil around Eames as Arthur shot his load deep inside the boy, his dick jerking in Eames' ass, his balls pulled up tight and hard against his torso.

His ears were buzzing and he couldn't see anything through a golden haze for long moments, but Arthur prided himself on being a conscientious lover and even as he rode the ebbing waves of his orgasm into the spreading warmth of afterglow, Arthur recalled that this had been Eames' first time. So he regained control over his rubbery limbs as quickly as he could.

Very slowly, very carefully, he slid his dick out of Eames' ass. It was still pulsing, and he felt a hot swell of pride and proprietorship both at the thought of leaving his stain inside of Eames, and over the fact that he'd been the first to fuck Eames like this. Or at all.

Eames whimpered, his ass clenching, but he was grabbing at Arthur clumsily, so Arthur thought he was protesting the withdrawal as much as maybe indicating soreness. God knew Arthur hadn't been as gentle as he probably should have been, but neither of them had evidently wanted that. He just hoped that Eames wouldn't regret their impulsiveness.

Unfolding Eames, Arthur maneuvered them so that they were resting side by side on the rumpled comforter. It was probably ruined, as he'd briefly thought, but he couldn't bring himself to care in the slightest. As though he had the attention for anything other than Eames.

Like the fact that they both had come smeared on their stomachs.... Well, once they could move, Arthur would get them both into the shower and they'd deal with that.

Arthur pulled Eames into his arms once again, holding him close as he trembled, as he came down from his climax, from the intensity of being fucked for the first time.

"That was...." Eames choked, drew in a shuddering breath, wrapped his own arms around Arthur and held on tight. "That was... the s-second best thing that ever happened to me."

"Oh?" Arthur wasn't offended, just curious. "What was the first thing?"

Eames loosed one arm, waving it about spastically, and it took Arthur a moment to realize he was doing it deliberately. "This," Eames mumbled, his face hidden in Arthur's neck again, his voice shaking. "Home. Our home. The fact that you asked me to live with you and came after me... twice."

He sounded on the verge of tears, probably as much from the sex they'd just had as his surplus of emotion over having come _home_ , but Arthur knew he was sincere. He also knew that Eames would never forgive either of them if he actually did break down and cry.

"Come on," he said, running his fingers over Eames' scalp. They were both covered in lube and come and sweat, and Arthur wanted to wash the product out of both their hair. "Let's go and shower, okay? And then I can show you the rest of our home."

He hoped that Eames wouldn't think that he was blowing him off. Hoped that his tone and his echoing of "our home" would get his meaning across without causing Eames to actually cry.

He also really wanted to bathe, and so he hoped that Eames was up to that.

***

Arthur had a very good suggestion but Eames wasn't sure he could move.

"I'm not sure I can move," he said, and he hoped he didn't sound pathetic. He also really hoped, belatedly, that this wouldn't make Arthur feel guilty or anything, for doing exactly what Eames had wanted him to do, what he had practically begged him for.

"You may have to carry me," he added, and now he was managing to sound more easy, less as though he was going to start bawling like some girl who'd just given up her cherry. Yes, it was true that Eames had been a virgin and now he wasn't, but he was a guy, dammit. Not a female.

Arthur sat up, and it was a wrench losing his embracing arms and his body heat, but it did bring Eames to an awareness of the fact that, yes, he really did need a bath.

"Maybe back when we first met," Arthur snorted, grinning down at him and ruffling his hair again, as though it wasn't a tattered mess already. "Before you put on all this muscle."

Eames blushed, pleased that Arthur had noticed.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Arthur asked. He sounded more clinical than concerned, but there was a little frown on his face, and his dimples were gone, so Eames hastened to assure him.

"No." He sat up and winced. "Well, no more than you had to, right?" He was feeling a little chafed, he recognized as he got moving, and it was almost as though he was a little bruised, way up inside, but he knew he'd get over that quickly enough once he got moving. "I regret nothing."

Arthur chuckled and leaned in to kiss him briefly, but he got moving and got up off the bed before Eames could kiss him back the way he wanted.

"Come on, babe."

"Don't call me that," Eames grumped, but he held out his hands, silently urging Arthur to drag him over to the edge of the bed, and he let Arthur help him up to his feet. He was a little wobbly, but the more he moved, the less stiff he felt.

"Why?" Arthur challenged. "You've called me 'darling' at least twice. And once was today."

Eames blushed and bit his lower lip. "You didn't tell me not to," he ventured.

Arthur grinned, and there were the dimples again. "I don't mind," he said mildly. "Even if it makes you sound like someone's doting grandmother."

"Hey!" Eames protested.

"Or a flaming homosexual," Arthur added, still grinning wickedly.

Eames could hardly argue that, considering that he'd just had Arthur's cock buried balls-deep in his arse. "Well, you're the one butt-fucking a flaming homosexual," he gruffed, but Arthur's good humour was contagious. "So what does that make you?"

"Well, I've always identified as bisexual," Arthur replied, because of course he took the question seriously. "But since I'm exclusively with you now, I suppose that makes me Eames-sexual."

This startled a laugh out of Eames, though he half suspected he was laughing to keep from crying. That was more of a declaration of intent than he felt he could handle, especially as emotionally fragile as he still kind of felt. It was wonderful and amazing to hear Arthur verbalize it like that, but it almost _hurt_ , in a strange way.

Arthur seemed to realize Eames' difficulties, and he didn't push, instead changing the subject.

"So this is the bedroom," he said, sliding one arm casually around Eames' waist and gesturing to the room around them with his other hand. Eames had already taken note of the bed, but now he cast his gaze to the rest of it.

The carpet was a plush taupe, the walls were cream, and the lighting was warm and golden. There were thick burgundy curtains on the windows, there was a walk-in closet without a door and Eames could see a dresser that matched the bedframe inside it, along with rows and rows of Arthur's suits hanging in colour-coordinated splendour.

"Your clothes are all in there," Arthur said, pointing at the dresser. "Except the ones you took with you. Shall I go and get us something to change into once we've showered?"

Eames nodded silently, then propped himself against the bedframe as he watched Arthur walk naked and unashamed into the closet, fetching Eames' favourite pyjama bottoms and oversized top, both in soft grey. "Does that mean we're showering together?" he asked, glancing down at his jizz-stained stomach and chest and grimacing in slight distaste.

"That was the plan," Arthur said, getting his own clothes and coming back over to offer Eames an arm. Eames wished that he had too much pride to need this, but the fact was that it was nice to be so close to Arthur, to lean on him, even if they both really did need the bath in question. They weren't just both of them covered in jizz, they were also sweaty and had leftover lube in both expected and odd places.

"And this is the bathroom," Arthur said, setting their clothes down on the counter, not too near the sink. It was a sizable room, considering that Arthur had said the house was small. The floor was tiled in a dark ochre, the walls were yellow, the fixtures were all copper and the cupboards were a walnut that matched the furniture in the bedroom as near as Eames could tell.

"Nice," Eames said, because it felt weird to stand here silently, when just a short while ago he'd been begging Arthur to fuck him. Not that he had any problem with that, of course. It'd be awfully stupid to be embarrassed after the fact....

But then he felt a trickle of hot come running down the back of his thigh and he knew he was blushing again. He'd been blushing a lot more than ever before in his life, he thought with some small irritation.

Arthur had started the water, and once he was satisfied with the temperature, he motioned for Eames to join him. It was a real shower stall with a frosted door on hinges, rather than one of those flimsy combination bathtub-shower deals with a curtain; a fact which Eames greatly approved of. Especially since it meant that he'd be pressed up close against Arthur's lean, wiry body in the smaller space.

"The guest bath has a tub," Arthur told him. "If you ever feel the need to soak."

Eames nodded, stepping up to Arthur and ignoring the shower for a moment as he tipped his head up and kissed the man on the mouth.

"Thank you," he said, and he wasn't even sure what he was thanking Arthur for, but Arthur just smiled at him, a soft and gentle expression.

"Get in the shower," Arthur said, grasping him by one shoulder and squeezing, rather than pushing him toward the stall. "I'll be right with you."

"Promise?" Eames felt suddenly insecure, which was completely ridiculous when this was Arthur's house, and Eames was the one with the record for running. But Arthur didn't mock him or get angry.

"Less than two minutes, I swear."

Eames nodded, and moved to do as instructed. It pulled a little to step into the shower stall, but he did his best to make it look as natural as possible. He'd get used to bottoming, he was sure, and Arthur had said that they would switch off, which idea made Eames' flaccid cock twitch a little where it was slumped between his thighs. The thought made him a little nervous, but it also turned him on, knowing that Arthur trusted him like that, knowing that Arthur really did consider him to be an equal, knowing that he'd eventually be getting his cock in Arthur's perfect, sculpted arse....

Once in the stall, Eames closed the door behind him. There was a thick, fuzzy yellow mat directly in front of the stall, soft under his feet to protect his heels from the cold of the tiles, and he didn't want to get it damp.

The water temperature was perfect, hot enough to sluice away the drying jizz all over his front, as well as relaxing muscles he hadn't realized had tensed up again after going all noodly once he'd come. Of course, the chill of walking around naked couldn't have helped.

Eames reached back, gingerly touching his arsehole. It was definitely tender, a little swollen and hot, still throbbing in time with his pulse, even though Eames knew that Arthur had been careful. Not that Eames had any regrets. He'd do it all over again, given the chance. He intended to do it all over again, as many times as Arthur wanted to do it. Hopefully at least once a day from here on out. And more than once a day until they'd made up for some of the time they'd lost.

True to his promise, Arthur stepped into the shower stall in under two minutes, more like one minute. Eames had his head tipped back, rinsing out his hair. He hadn't shampooed it yet, but it just felt good to stand under the pounding hot water.

Eames raised his brows as he saw what Arthur was holding in one hand. He couldn't help laughing.

"Does it really bother you so much?" he asked, reaching up and rubbing his chin.

Arthur grinned back. "Not a fan of beard burn, sorry," he said, setting the razor down on a convenient shelf in one corner, then wielding the shaving cream with confident hands.

Eames moved so that the water was striking his upper back, which was a little selfish of him since Arthur was still coated in his jizz, and tipped his head back in offering.

Arthur didn't seem to mind Eames hogging the hot water. He stood directly before Eames and carefully smoothed on the foam, then just as carefully ran the razor over the planes and edges of Eames' face. It was just a regular safety razor, but Eames felt as though it was proof of his trust for Arthur that he let him move it over his face, his throat bared as though in submission. He watched while Arthur kept his gaze fixed on what he was doing, his expression intent and focused. Eames was used to seeing Arthur look like this while he worked, but not when he was looking at Eames. He kind of liked it, having that attention solely for himself. He liked it a lot.

And Arthur certainly lived up to Arthur's trust in him. Once he was done, Eames had a perfect clean shave, no bristles left, no nicks, just delicate, sensitized skin that was completely free of stubble.

"There," Arthur said, dimples twinkling as he gave Eames a satisfied smirk. "Much better."

"Do you know how long it took me to cultivate that?" Eames felt compelled to ask, even though he hadn't really cared all that much about the stubble except in the ways that it made him look older, more mature. And he definitely liked the way Arthur was looking at him now; as though he liked what he was seeing.

Arthur didn't answer, just chuckled and grabbed the soap. "Want me to wash your back?"

"Mm." Eames turned, raising his face into the water stream to clear off the last of the shaving cream. Then he politely stepped out of the way of the spray. "How about I do yours first?"

Arthur quirked him a wry little half grin, then handed over the soap. "You know, I don't trust just anyone at my back," he said quietly, as he took Eames' place under the water. And he might have meant it to sound like a joke, but it came out entirely too seriously, and Eames knew that it was absolutely true.

"You can trust me," he said, equally quietly, lathering up his hands and then setting the bar aside so that he could run his hands avidly over the hard lines and little dips of Arthur's back.

He smoothed his palms over the sweeping line of Arthur's spine, spread his fingers over the wings of Arthur's shoulderblades, rubbed his way down to the small of Arthur's back, then ventured boldly down the swells of his magnificent arse.... Eames was faintly amused over the fact that Arthur's _back_ was probably the one place of the two of them in entirety that hadn't gotten jizz or lube on it. But mostly he reveled in the soft skin underneath his hands, the chance to touch Arthur slow and sensually, and the explicitly stated trust that this indicated Arthur had in him.

Arthur didn't reply to Eames' last declaration, but Eames didn't mind. He knew that Arthur trusted him, and he was sure that Arthur knew Eames trusted him. After all, Eames had trusted Arthur enough to let him fuck his arse, right? Without any protection, even, Eames wasn't sure how they'd come to this place in their lives, that they meant so much to each other and believed in what was between them, but now that they were here, he'd do just about anything to avoid screwing it up.

"Done?" Arthur asked, as Eames lingered over the tight perfection of his rear, glorying in the fact that he was allowed to touch as much as he was enjoying the feel of them in his hands.

"I suppose," Eames said grudgingly, because he couldn't milk it much longer. But then Arthur simply turned around, and offered his front for more of the same treatment, and Eames didn't hesitate.

"How are your nipples feeling?" Arthur asked, as Eames ran his soap-slick fingers over Arthur's, pausing to play with them a little. They were a lot smaller than Eames' and it took more to get them to harden, but Eames adored them just the same. They were nipples like a man ought to have, not the near-tits that Eames sported. He'd gotten them pierced almost as a defense technique. If they were going to stand out all pointy anyway, there might as well be a reason, right?

"They're still a little tender," Eames replied honestly. He'd been more focused on the deep-seated throb in his arse, but now that Arthur mentioned it, he realized he could still feel the effects of Arthur's ministrations on his chest as well. He glanced down, pleased that he could still see the faintest marks of Arthur's teeth on one pectoral. They were both red and swollen, and Eames reflected that his mouth and arsehole probably all looked the same. And that was a very satisfying thought.

"Next time you can twist 'em more and bite harder," he offered, and his cock was definitely beginning to recover, blood filling it, pleasure building deep in his groin. He raised his gaze from Arthur's chest, meeting his eyes, glad that he was almost as tall as Arthur was. "Just so you know."

"After they've recovered a little," Arthur replied, and he placed and hand on Eames' shoulder, making him aware that until that move, Arthur had just been standing there, letting Eames touch him as he desired, then leaning in a claiming Eames' lips with his own.

Eames took that as the promise it was, and since he'd run out of lather a bit ago and was now simply stroking the firm muscles of Arthur's torso for his own pleasure, he slipped his arms around to hold on as his tongue twined with Arthur's between their closely sealed mouths.

Arthur was lean, it was true, but as Eames had always suspected, he was solid and nothing but carefully developed muscle and wiry sinew underneath his fitted clothing. Eames was catching up, but he still wasn't quite there. They made a pretty good match, he thought with a small groan, as he crowded forward in order to butt his rousing cock up against Arthur's.

"Remember," Arthur murmured, bending his head to nuzzle the thin skin of Eames' neck and causing him to shiver even though it was humid and steamy in the shower stall, "I'm not a teenager anymore, Eames."

Eames smirked, because he could feel Arthur's cock hardening against his own. He was still a long way from being fully erect again, but Eames was actually pleased by this fact.

He was also very pleased by Arthur's cock, now that he'd had a chance to see, and to _experience_ it. He'd always known that Arthur was hiding quite an impressively-sized tool in those fitted trousers. Now he knew that it was even larger when it was hard, and his tender bum could attest to that.

He reached down -- feeling greatly daring even though, as noted, it had been _inside_ him just a short time ago, even though he and Arthur had been swapping saliva and had only just washed their jizz off of one another -- and grasped Arthur's beautiful cock in a careful but firm hand.

Arthur pulled back enough to meet Eames' eyes, and the way his lips quirked in a crooked smile, the way his cock jumped and began to swell in Eames' hand were clear indications that he didn't mind the familiarity of this in the slightest. In fact, he seemed to quite like it.

"It occurs to me," Eames drawled, because it had just occurred to him, and he felt the need to share, "That I hardly got the chance to touch you just now, while we were fucking."

Arthur nodded solemnly, as though he wasn't standing there with his hair plastered to his skull, his lashes starred with water, and his rapidly-stiffening cock cradled in Eames' hand. "Chalk that up to me being a selfish lover," he said, obviously ready to take on the blame.

"No, no," Eames hastened. There wasn't any blame to be placed; he just regretted the missed opportunity. But he intended to make it up now. "If you say that, then we have to say I was a lazy lover, and I don't care for that at all. How about we just put it down to you being so good I was overwhelmed, and we set about fixing that balance."

The hot water cascading over them both eased his grip enough that he was able to begin smoothly rubbing up and down the shaft of Arthur's cock. It was growing harder, but still hung heavy between them. Eames wanted to reach underneath and fondle Arthur's balls a little, but he'd be damned if he could release his grip on Arthur's cock in order to do so.

Arthur didn't reply, just leaned in and kissed Eames again. His hands were on Eames' hips, then sliding around to cup his arse cheeks. Eames sucked in a quick breath through his nose, but Arthur only kneaded at the taut muscles, didn't delve into the crack between them. Eames wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed. On the one hand, he was still sore. On the other, he had loved having Arthur in there, fingers and cock, and he wouldn't be adverse to a little revisiting of that most intimate penetration.

He couldn't talk anymore with Arthur's tongue in his mouth, and so his fingers had to talk for him. Though he was holding on to Arthur's cock with his one hand, jacking him slowly to hardness, Eames had another hand that was free to roam. Right now he was clinging to Arthur's arm like some swooning damsel, and that wasn't right. So Eames pried his fingers free and instead wormed his arm between their chests so that he could tweak at one of Arthur's nipples again.

Arthur let out a small noise that was muffled by their kiss and his fingers tightened on Eames' arse. Eames took this as encouragement, even though he was pretty sure that it was Arthur's cock that had to be affording him more pleasure in this moment, and he did it again, more insistently.

"I'll have to make sure to put that golden tongue of yours to good use," Arthur told Eames, once he'd broken their kiss for a moment so that they could both catch their breath.

"I could go on my knees, right now," Eames offered, and Arthur's cock was nearly fully erect in his hand right now, his own hard-on brushing impatiently against his knuckles.

"Not right now," Arthur demurred, his lips pressing soft, heavy kisses to Eames' freshly-shaven jaw as Eames tilted his head back a little. "But if you're going to keep up the handjob, I'd appreciate a little more lubrication."

"What should I use?" Eames asked breathlessly. The heat and wet in the shower were robbing him of air as surely as his growing arousal was, but he had no intention of suggesting they leave its warm, sultry confines, and he hoped Arthur wasn't going to either.

"Use my conditioner," Arthur instructed, letting loose of Eames' arse with one hand in order to grasp the bottle in question from the alcove intended for such products, built into the wall of the shower.

"Mm. We haven't even washed our hair yet," Eames noted as he and Arthur separated long enough for him to get a good palmful of the stuff. Arthur was right, it was slick and slippery and would serve perfectly well as lube in a pinch.

"Did you want to stop and do that?" Arthur asked, dimples on display.

"No," Eames hastened to reply, crowding Arthur against the wall behind him and getting both hands on his genitals before Arthur could do something unbearably stupid like take himself seriously. He cupped Arthur's balls with one hand, manipulating them carefully but with the same firmness he knew he himself liked. With his other hand he grasped the erection that Arthur was sporting, fully realized, and began wanking it more with demand than with finesse.

He was a little afraid he was being too presumptuous, but then, it had been Arthur's suggestion that he use the conditioner in this manner.

"Are you sure you don't want me to blow you?" he leaned in to ask gustily against Arthur's shoulder as he worked Arthur's hard cock, fingers gripping so tightly that it would have hurt if not for the slick conditioner easing the friction. "I haven't gotten this in my mouth yet, and I'm dying for a taste."

Arthur huffed out a sound that was more moan than laugh, his hands grabbing restlessly at Eames' shoulders. It was as though he was just hanging on and letting Eames overwhelm him with the pleasure and this thought sent a jolt of heat through Eames, his own cock jumping and spurting pre-come. He knew it was dripping on the tiles between their feet, and he wanted to rub himself as well, but all of his attention was on Arthur, as it should be.

"Just... keep doing... what you're doing," Arthur panted out, and his head tipped back against the wall, his hips involuntarily rocking into the steady beats Eames was giving his cock. "G-god... harder... faster...."

Eames could do that. He bit at his lower lip, now using the hand not stripping the shaft of Arthur's cock to rub his palm against its head. He could feel a little heated liquid breaking out and he smeared it in, as effective as the conditioner, and far more sexy.

His own cock was throbbing, begging him for some of the same stimulation he was giving Arthur. But Eames' gaze was focused solely on Arthur. He'd never seen him like this, having been a little distracted the last time Arthur had been nearing climax by his own impending orgasm, as well as the driving cock in his arse. Now he could drink in the sight, and it was at least as arousing as the sounds that Arthur was making, as the feeling of Arthur's cock throbbing hot and hard in his grip.

Arthur's eyes were closed, tightly but not squeezed shut, his lashes resting dark and wet on his cheeks. He was flushed, his cheeks red, pink everywhere else in the hot shower. His mouth was open, allowing panting breaths and small sounds of pleasure to escape, his plush lips perfectly shaped and ruddy from the pressure of their kisses. Eames could see the flash of white teeth and the darting of Arthur's pink tongue and he wanted more than anything to lick his way into Arthur's mouth again, but instead he continued his efforts to bring the man off.

The line of Arthur's jaw was just as mesmerizing as his focused, blissed-out expression, and Eames even adored the powerful cords in his neck, would have bitten them if he could have leaned in close enough without losing his grip.

Instead, he worked his hand harder and faster, as Arthur had asked, putting some wrist action into it that would have been impossible from a different angle, if he'd been jerking himself off. He hoped that Arthur would come soon, otherwise he'd have to renew the conditioner slicking his hand, and wouldn't that half kill the mood.

From the way Arthur's chest was heaving, Eames didn't think this was going to be a problem, though. Arthur's hands were still locked on Eames' shoulders, pulling him close, holding himself up, just making certain that they were _near_ one another, and Eames kind of liked this, kind of liked pressing Arthur back against the wall and dragging his climax up out of him, being the one Arthur could cling to after the way Arthur had held him together the whole time he'd been fucking into him.

Then Arthur's cock was pulsing in Eames' hands and he was uttering small, broken sounds in Eames' ear, and Eames worked him through it, but then let up the pressure and speed, still rubbing lightly at Arthur's shaft, but allowing him to pull himself back together after his second orgasm of the last hour or so.

Arthur might not be a teenager any longer, but that had been impressive, Eames thought. Mostly, though, he was thinking _damn, Arthur is beautiful_ and _fuck, I wanna come too!_

It felt good to have been able to do that for Arthur, and he was grateful that Arthur had allowed him to do it, but right now Eames was wound as tightly as Arthur had been a moment ago, and he was a couple of seconds and a faltering sense of good manners away from just rutting against Arthur's thigh until he shot off his current load.

Fortunately for Eames' peace of mind, Arthur recovered and moved a lot more quickly than he had any right to do, and his hand closed hot and close around Eames' throbbing erection. He didn't even need any conditioner, all it took was a few rough tugs, and Eames was shaking his way through it, burying his face in Arthur's shoulder and biting his lip in order not to bite at Arthur or cry out aloud at the heat of passion bursting through him, at the sheer relief of release.

"This wasn't really what I intended when I suggested we shower together," Arthur mumbled a few moments later, as they held onto each other and let the wall hold them up.

"But you didn't intend for it _not_ to happen, did you?" Eames managed to ask, a little nonsensically, he would admit.

"I'm only concerned we won't have enough hot water left to wash our hair," Arthur said, and the practical words were offset by the fond tone in which he uttered them.

As he came to an awareness of his body outside his still throbbing cock, Eames realized that Arthur was right, and the water wasn't as hot as it had been the last time he had noticed. "Shit."

Arthur dialed up the hot water and they both made a quick job of shampooing and rinsing. Arthur didn't bother with conditioner, which amused Eames a little, and then they both exited the shower stall and wrapped themselves up in thick, soft, absorbent towels that were as new as the house.

"I like what you've done with the place," Eames said, grinning at Arthur from inside the cocoon of his towel, while Arthur got himself quickly and efficiently dried off.

"I created this home for you," Arthur replied seriously, then ruined the effect by dropping his towel on top of Eames' head and rubbing furiously at his hair.

"Oy!" Eames yelped, the sound muffled by the thick fabric, and then reeled a little when Arthur whipped it away again.

"No more of that side part," Arthur told him firmly.

"Are you going to leave the pomade out of your hair, then?" Eames asked, watching as Arthur pulled on his comfy clothing. Once the man's fine white arse and mostly flaccid but still flushed cock were hidden from view by the boxers he insisted on wearing even though they were at home, he raised his gaze to the dark, wet locks in question.

"As you like," Arthur said easily, swooping in for a quick kiss before pulling on his shirt. "Now get out of that towel and get dressed. I want to show you the rest of the house."

"But I'm so warm and cozy in here," Eames grumbled, even as he moved to do as Arthur had directed. Arthur had a point, and now that he'd come twice and was warm and clean, Eames found he was becoming unbearably curious about what the rest of the home he was going to be sharing with Arthur looked like.

"Most of the kitchen was destroyed in the blast, back at the apartment," Arthur was saying as Eames pulled his shirt over his head and ran his fingers through his hair in a vain attempt at taming it. "So I had to replace most of that; utensils, pans, the coffeemaker. But the rest of the place was largely undamaged, so I packed up everything and brought it here."

Eames nodded. Part of him wanted to ask what Arthur would have done if he hadn't agreed to come home, but he knew that neither of them wanted to think about that, especially not now that he was here to stay. Anyway, he suspected that the answer would have been that Arthur would have kept trying to convince him, for as long as it took. And even though he couldn't be sure he wasn't just projecting his own emotions onto Arthur, even though he hadn't asked and Arthur hadn't answered, the mere thought filled Eames was a dangerously sappy flood of warm feelings.

"Thank you," he said instead. Because Arthur cared about him enough to bother bringing his things here. Because Arthur had tracked him down and apologized for something that had been as much Eames' fault for overreacting as it had been Arthur's for not censoring himself the way he normally did. For worrying about Eames enough that he'd said the exact wrong thing. For giving Eames a place to live and paying for his food and clothes and education, and never once asking for anything in return.

Arthur just smiled at him and reached out for Eames' hand. With his hair loose and his dimples flashing, he looked almost as though he might be Eames' age... or at least quite a bit closer. And Eames suddenly _got_ why Arthur was so generous with the pomade, why he wore the fitted suits, why he so rarely smiled while working. It was the same reason Eames had started slapping on the gel, cultivating a face-full of stubble, and bought himself matching jackets and trousers that never looked anything like Arthur's.

Well, okay. Arthur probably _liked_ wearing his suits. But Eames thought that he looked just as good in his dress-down jeans and flannel button-up. Eames wondered if anyone else had ever seen Arthur like this. He wondered if Ariadne had ever seen him like this. Hopefully not, he thought with a sudden flare of possessiveness.

Well, Arthur was his now. He'd as much as said so, by declaring himself "Eames-sexual". Which was more than a little silly, but Eames liked what it meant more than the way it sounded.

"Let's go and look at the rest of our home," he said, squeezing the elegant hand in his own. Arthur smiled and Eames' heart skipped a beat, and this was his life now. He wouldn't give this up for anything, and he was so fortunate that Arthur had been willing to give him a chance. Back in the flat he'd been squatting in, and then later, after he had run away.

He wanted to say thank you again, but he knew Arthur didn't really want to hear it. So instead he kissed him softly on the mouth and allowed Arthur to lead him out of the bathroom and take him on a tour.

He was home, for the first time in far too long. But he was here now, and he was here to stay.

***

Eames tried to play it cool, but Arthur could tell he was impressed by the house and all its accoutrements.

He'd brought most of their things from the apartment, but many of the furnishings were new. The living room was small, but the television was large and the entertainment center was well equipped. And in the office, because they had no guest room, just the office, there were two desks. Facing one another in the middle of the room, not to either side, against the walls. Because Arthur wanted to be able to see Eames as they both worked.

"I'm a forger now," Eames informed Arthur quietly as they stood in the doorway. His hand was still tight in Arthur's, though, and he didn't seem as though he was trying to pick an argument. "I'm still perfectly willing to help you with your paperwork, but a lot of what I do is in the dream-share or out in the field."

"I know," Arthur said, equally softly, keeping his voice calm and even. "I'm not trying to force things back to the way they were, Eames. I'll appreciate any help you can give me. And I'm begging you not to take any jobs without me, unless maybe it's with Ariadne. But I'm not trying to chain you down."

Eames was staring at him, his eyes unreadable, his lower lip jutting the way it sometimes did when he was thinking.

"I don't want to work any jobs without you, either, Arthur," he finally said, and his voice was small and wobbled a little, even though his eyes were dry. "So I'm glad we agree on that."

"Ready to see the kitchen?" Arthur asked, because there was only so much emotion he could stand at a time, and he and Eames had definitely run the gamut today. That was the only room they had left to look at, really. There was the garage, where the car was parked, and the dining room, which they'd passed through on the way to the bedroom, but it was small and honestly, it was just a space between the kitchen and the living room that a table and chairs fit in neatly.

"Suddenly I realize I'm starving," Eames said, as Arthur led him through into the kitchen. It felt a little strange to be holding hands like high school sweethearts or something, but it also felt right. To know that Eames was right there, to have this connection. Arthur had no idea when or how Eames had become so essential to his life, but there it was, and he wasn't about to let him get away a third time.

"Well, it's getting close to dinner time," Arthur said, grinning. "And we _have_ been exerting a lot of energy."

"More tonight, before we go to bed, right?" Eames said, giving him a wicked sideways glance, his full lips curling in that familiar smile that Arthur had missed so much.

"Don't you think you're expecting a lot from me?" Arthur asked, but he was grinning too, and even though he was doubly-sated right now, he was pretty sure that by the time they were done with dinner and dessert and whatever quiet evening activities they engaged in -- watching television, tracking down a job, reading; it didn't matter as long as they did it together -- he'd be raring to go again.

Eames didn't answer, just gave him another kiss and then turned his hand loose, so that he could start peering in cupboards and the refrigerator. "Looks like you've got everything pretty well stocked," he approved. "Anything in particular you want me to make?"

"You shouldn't have to cook on your birthday," Arthur protested, but they both knew he only sort of meant it. God, he had missed Eames' meals.

"I like cooking for you," Eames rejoined, sounding eminently reasonable. "So why shouldn't I do something I like on my birthday?"

"You have a point," Arthur said, retrieving a couple of bottles of water out of the fridge and opening one for Eames before sitting down at the tiny kitchen table. It was set in a corner next to the pantry and had only two chairs, as opposed to the larger one in the dining area that had six chairs, in case they ever wanted to entertain. "Hydrate," he ordered, indicating the water.

Eames nodded, then chugged half the bottle in one go. Arthur admired the line of his throat, then just sat and basked for a moment in the fact that Eames was home, where he belonged. It made the kitchen that had always been so cold and empty seem homey and warm.

Arthur hadn't lived here for long before contacting Ariadne to help him make his bid for Eames' forgiveness, but already it felt more like _home_ than it had in the time since he had bought it and brought all the stuff from the apartment here. And it was only going to get better from here on out, he would make sure of it. They both would.

"How about soup and sandwich," Eames was saying, and Arthur couldn't help staring at his ass as he dug around in the fridge. "Light but filling, and not too much work."

"I'd rather have your soup and sandwich than eat at a five star restaurant," Arthur answered honestly. "Oh, speaking of which, do you want to eat out tomorrow, as a belated birthday celebration? If I catch her in time, maybe Ariadne will still be in town and we can invite her. Or not, if you want it to be just the two of us."

Eames turned and just looked at him for a long moment, his head tilted slightly to one side. His hair was mussed, and even his eyebrows looked rumpled. His lips were still red and Arthur could see his nipples with their tempting piercings poking out beneath the material of his shirt, and knew they were probably red as well. And suddenly, as much as he liked Ariadne, as much as he owed her for the part she had played in getting Eames back, he had absolutely no desire to share this incredible young man standing before him with her, even for a few hours.

"Just the two of us, I think," Eames said, a little shyly. "I mean, she said she'd check in on us after she visited Cobb, right?"

"Right," Arthur nodded, his smile widening. He was so glad that they were on the same page, and that Eames was evidently feeling as possessive and exclusive as he was.

"So..." Eames drawled as he got out a frying pan and checked the breadbox to ascertain that there actually was a loaf in there. "That big box from a bakery that's taking up the whole middle shelf of the fridge...."

Arthur laughed. "Well, _you_ may have forgotten that it was your birthday today, but some of us haven't," he informed Eames tartly. "I've even got candles."

Eames actually flushed, giving Arthur a quick smile before grabbing the rest of the ingredients he needed.

"It's just going to be tinned soup," he apologized. "I'd need the better part of a day to make it from scratch."

"Of course." As though Arthur minded. Eames made great soup, of course. But he also had a way with spices and could make even canned soup extra delicious. That combined with his sandwiches meant this would be a meal fit for royalty.

"You haven't been eating right," Eames scolded as he got to work, electric can opening whirring and knives flashing. "I can tell. You're skinnier than you used to be."

"Well, I could say the same to you," Arthur responded, drinking more water. "Not that you don't look great, and I can tell you're still working out, but you _have_ lost a little weight."

Eames grunted, pouting at him a little, and Arthur felt compelled to stand and go over to grab that fine ass. "I told you that you still look great," he reminded, speaking the words softly in Eames' ear, then running his tongue along the outside rim. He'd even missed how pointy Eames' ears looked, had missed everything about him.

Eames shivered, then elbowed him handily in the ribs. Not to hurt, just to warn him off. "Wait until I'm done making us dinner," he admonished, but his voice was husky and warm.

"Do you want to eat here or in the dining room?" Arthur asked. "I'll set the places."

"How distressingly domestic of you," Eames teased, but he was the one cooking them dinner, so Arthur thought he was hardly in a place to cast judgment. "Um, at the dining table, I think. That's for dinner. The little table there can be for breakfasts. And maybe lunches."

Personally, Arthur thought that the kitchen table was going to end up covered in odds and ends, the way Cobb's window seats were always littered with James and Phillipa's toys and clothing. But he'd asked for Eames' input and gotten it, and this was Eames' home now, as well as his own.

While Eames put their lunch together -- and it was so much more than simply heating soup and slapping some meat and cheese between slices of bread, because Eames grilled the sandwiches and managed to do something magical that make canned soup delicious -- Arthur got busy fetching their bowls and utensils, then grabbing them both a couple more waters.

"That smells delicious," he said, sliding his arms around Eames waist from behind. It was only just a little after six and they had the whole evening before them. They were both going to have to look for work soon, but for now they could afford a nice little vacation. Arthur refused to think of it as a honeymoon, even though the word did spring to mind. Enough time to get to know one another, inside and out, as it were.

And, yes, Arthur meant that sexually. Because he and Eames already knew one another fairly well from having lived together for six months already. The parts that were new were the sex, sharing a bed to sleep, and the words they hadn't yet spoken but which rang clear in all their actions ever since they had been reunited.

Arthur had been in love before, but never like this. It should have terrified him, that Eames was only just seventeen today. But instead it felt right. Arthur knew that he had found the person he would be spending the rest of his life with, and he was completely certain that Eames felt the same way.

And that was terrifying in a way that nothing else was. And yet strangely comforting at the same time. It was paradoxical, and so Arthur was going to take it for what it was, and he was going to enjoy the hell out of it.

Eames tilted his head back and to the side, and Arthur managed to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You smell delicious too," he murmured, because it was true.

"Mm, but I'm not on the menu, yet," Eames rumbled. "Because I'm famished and we both need to eat this while it's still hot and fresh."

"Yes, yes." Arthur pressed a quick kiss to the line of Eames' neck, and then stepped away, even though it was a wrench to let go of him. But he couldn't smother Eames with his own neediness. He knew it would get better as time passed, but right now he wondered if either of them would be able to be in a different room for more than a few moments.

Well, that wasn't going to be an issue for a while. They were back together again, and Arthur had a feeling that both of them would be doing their damnedest to make sure they stayed that way.

Eames was home, and now Arthur's house _was_ a home. It was as simple as that.

***

Once dinner was over there was cake and ice cream, and Eames felt a bit like a kid again, instead of someone who was only another year away from being eighteen. But not necessarily in a bad way.

And it was nice that Arthur thought he was important enough to make an effort for. Well, completely aside from the fact that he'd bought this house, then set Eames up with a fake job and snuck into his dream to beg him to come back to it with him, of course.

The cake was chocolate, which Arthur knew was Eames' favourite, and Eames knew was _not_ Arthur's favourite. Well, it was Eames' birthday, after all. But he resolved to bake the best multi-tiered red velvet cake the world had ever seen when Arthur's birthday rolled around. Because turnabout was fair play, in the kitchen as well as in the bedroom and the business world.

The ice cream was vanilla, and Eames thought about making a joke, but considering that Arthur had fucked him raw just a few hours ago, he decided that it might be a little tactless of him. As well as being not completely accurate.

And more than anything, Eames wanted to get laid again before they crashed for the night. So he figured it was best to keep his errant tongue in check. At least until he could get it somewhere more fun... like inside Arthur's mouth. Or maybe his delightful bum. Because Eames hadn't had a chance to do much with his sexual partners before Arthur, but he already knew instinctively that he himself was very much _not_ vanilla.

Well, to be fair, considering the way that Arthur had enjoyed playing with Eames' piercings and employing his teeth during foreplay, Eames suspected that he'd be hard put to keep up with Arthur. Seeing as Arthur had more experience, and had had more time to hone his abilities.

But Eames didn't want to think about Arthur's previous lovers, especially not on his birthday. So instead he blew out the candles, pretended to make a wish even though he already had everything he could have wanted, and he and Arthur ate cake and ice cream, then did dishes, and repaired to the living room.

"I know it's your birthday," Arthur said apologetically, "And once I'm done we can watch a movie or something, but I really do need to tend to a little work, real quick."

"S'all right, darling," Eames said, wincing when he caught himself but not taking it back. "To be honest, I have some things I should deal with too."

That was how they both ended up on the sofa, on their laptops. Eames lounged back against one of the sofa arms, feet resting up against one of Arthur's thighs. He wanted to put his head on Arthur's lap, but with their computers, that wasn't going to happen.

"How's your ass doing?" Arthur asked, as Eames shifted a little to get comfortable.

"Fine," Eames answered, mostly honestly. "Should definitely be ready for another go when bedtime rolls around."

Arthur arched a brow, giving him a frankly incredulous look. Eames grinned sheepishly, but....

"It's my birthday, remember? We should do what I want!"

Arthur snorted and shook his head, but he was reluctantly smiling in return. "Well, we'll discuss it further in a few hours."

With the wireless password, Eames got into his several email accounts. There wasn't anything major pending but he did take a moment to reply to Ariadne, who was still worried over the part she'd played in tricking him here, no matter that he had already told her it was okay and that he was grateful. He had to wonder if she knew or suspected what there really was between him and Arthur... but if she did she wasn't judging them. So in the end it didn't really matter. Until Eames was legitimately of age, they'd be circumspect, even around friends. And after that....

Well, Eames wasn't going to make any assumptions, but he rather hoped that Arthur would be willing to acknowledge their relationship. Though, on the other hand, this might open them both up to the danger of being used against one another. And anyone who knew them would instantly realize that they'd been sleeping together _before_ Eames' eighteenth birthday....

That was still a year away, though, and so there was no use borrowing trouble, Eames decided as he closed his laptop. He'd left it behind, at Cobb's house, when he had run, but Arthur had brought it here, along with all of Eames' other things.

Tonight was about celebrating his seventeenth birthday, reveling in the fact that he and Arthur were back together, and enjoying the sex that they were finally able to indulge in after more than six months of repression and denial.

"Done?" Arthur asked, his attention shifting seamlessly from his own laptop to Eames. If this were a normal day, Eames would have stretched to put his laptop on the coffee table, but he didn't really feel like doing that right now; even though he hadn't been lying to Arthur when he'd said his arse was fine. It mostly was. He just had to move a little more carefully than usual for a while. Arthur's cock was really quite generously sized.

"Yeah, there wasn't much," Eames said with a shrug. "Once we start working again, I'll be perfectly happy to let you do most of the business end of things."

"Uh-huh," Arthur grunted, giving Eames a small, crooked smile. "I see how it'll go."

"I will bring the imagination and innovation," Eames said airily, waving a hand.

Arthur shifted to set his own laptop on the coffee table, then did the same with Eames' laptop. Then, without preamble, he crawled over Eames' prone body until he was grinning predatorily down at him.

"And what makes you think I don't have any imagination or innovation?" he asked, and he wasn't touching Eames anywhere yet, except for where his knees were brushing against Eames' hips, but Eames was already getting hard in his pyjama bottoms. "We haven't been in the dream-share more than twice, and the first time it was all about you showing off."

Eames was glad that they could joke about that, even though the memory of what had happened after they'd exited the dreamshare still stung a little. But they'd made it up, and he didn't mind letting it go.

"You can't possibly be brilliant at everything, can you?" he grumbled, slinging his arms around Arthur and giving him a determined tug, trying to pull the man down onto himself.

"Guess you'll have to wait and see," Arthur murmured, bending his head and kissing Eames soundly, but making no move to lower his weight down onto Eames, much to his disappointment.

"I don't want to watch a movie or anything," Eames said breathlessly, his hands flexing on Arthur's shoulders. "I want you to take me to bed and show me how innovative you can be there."

"Mm." Arthur nuzzled his cheek, his face warm and delightful against Eames'. "Well, if you insist, birthday boy."

"Don't call me that," Eames protested, punching Arthur in the shoulder.

"You know I don't think of you as a boy," Arthur said earnestly, lifting himself off of Eames, and then giving him a hand up.

"No, I meant that whole thing," Eames corrected, leaning in and claiming a soft kiss. "Birthday boy. Even if it _is_ my birthday."

"All right," Arthur said easily, punctuating his sentence with another kiss, "Now, before we head for bed, there's something else I want to give you."

Eames stood beside the sofa and watched with curiosity as Arthur crossed to pluck a small box off one of the bookshelves. It was wrapped in bright red paper, and Eames was a little chagrinned not to have noticed it earlier.

"Here," Arthur said, handing it over. "It's more symbolic than anything, but it's practical at the same time."

Eames wondered what that might possibly mean, until he opened the gift and saw what the box contained. Then he understood perfectly.

"I did say the house was your birthday gift," Arthur said, dimples on fully display he was smiling so warmly. "And you kind of need a key to your own home--"

Before he could finish talking, Eames had thrown his arms around Arthur's neck and plastered his lips against Arthur's. It was true that he would certainly require the key to his own home, but Arthur was also correct about the symbolism of it. And getting the house key wrapped up in red paper might have seemed a bit silly on the one hand, he didn't think there could have been a better birthday gift Arthur could have given him. Outside of his cock in Eames' arse, that was.

"Thank you," he said, and he was laughing a little in order to keep from crying, but Arthur didn't seem to mind. His arms were warm and supportive around Eames' waist, and they just stood like that for a moment, embracing in their living room, trading gentle kisses that slowly grew in hunger.

"Happy birthday," Arthur whispered, holding Eames close. "And welcome home."

=[end]=


	5. This Was Always a Bad Idea, Part Five: Or Maybe This Is Just an Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this is really just an epilogue. I very much doubt I'll be writing a sequel.

The next few months flew by, even though they both made the most of every day, Arthur thought.

He and Eames settle right back into life together, only it was much better than it had been in the apartment because now when Eames flirted Arthur felt free to do something about it. That wasn't to say that they didn't still clash, but that was part of the excitement of living with Eames.

Their sex life was amazing, if Arthur did say so, and as much as they did, there was always more to do. Arthur was pretty sure that by the time their three month anniversary in the house had rolled around he'd had more sex than he'd had the rest of his life combined to this point.

Mostly they worked from home, much as Arthur had used to do, back when Eames had first moved in. But they did use the PASIV device quite often. So that Eames could keep his hand in and practice his forging, so that they could each get used to the way the other used the dream-share and become comfortable in one another's subconscious, and sometimes to have sex when one of them was a little too sore in the waking world.

They both agreed that sex while they were topside was better, though, and Arthur was always iffy about sex in the dream-share, though he was willing to make exceptions where Eames was concerned, as he was with most things. Eames was always the exception.

Ariadne stopped by and had dinner with them as promised, passing along the word that James and Phillipa wanted to see both Eames and Uncle Arthur.

"How come I'm not an uncle too?" Eames asked crabbily, but they all knew the reason for that, so no one said it.

Arthur treated Eames like an adult as much as possible, and true to his word, Eames let him know when he didn't. Things were moving along pretty smoothly, as Eames got back to his correspondence course and got his diploma, then dove into helping Arthur with his work. They hadn't even left the house to work with anyone else and already they were making a name for themselves as an unstoppable team.

Eames was just beginning to make noises about getting back out there and performing actual extractions, and Arthur fully agreed, when Arthur got an unexpected email.

He laid it out for Eames over breakfast, both of them still with bed-head and in their pajamas.

"Cobb's... _benefactor_ , a Mr. Saito, needs someone to work a job for him," Arthur explained. "It seems his new business partner's godfather is trying to take over his company; the business partner's company, that is. We need to get something on this Browning guy and save the day."

"Well, Cobb's Mr. Saito is in luck," Eames said, flashing his crooked teeth in a broad grin. "Because saving the day just happens to be what we both do best!"

Arthur grinned back, finishing off his coffee before rising to get a second serving. "I'll let him know we're on our way, then," he said, his blood already beginning to pump with anticipation and excitement.

"After a morning shag," Eames put in. Arthur hadn't meant immediately. There were travel plans to be made, there was packing to be done, and he intended to find out whether Ariadne would be willing to join them. But he had no problem agreeing with Eames' stipulation.

Returning to the table, Arthur bent and pressed his lips to Eames'; coffee, sausage, and maple syrup flavoring their kiss.

"Of course," he agreed. "Just let me finish this first."

Eames eyed Arthur's freshly filled mug. "All right," he grudgingly acquiesced, as though his plate wasn't sitting in front of him with half his breakfast still on it.

Arthur smirked, sipping his steaming coffee as he sat back down at the table. There would be time. To get ready to go, to make themselves presentable, to have sex....

And then together they would go and save the day. Arthur and Eames. Eames and Arthur. As it should be and as it would be from here on out.

"You know what?" he said, setting his mug down on the table. "Let's forget about the coffee."

"Yeah," Eames said, his eyes bright.

And so they repaired back to the bedroom, and the rest of the day could wait.

But then, later, they would be going to the rescue. And they would be doing it together.


End file.
